


the woman behind the queenly mask

by eva_cybele



Series: learning how to live after the world ends [2]
Category: Persona 2, Persona 3, Persona Series, Persona | Revelations Persona
Genre: F/M, now featuring vague Catherine references, persona 1 and 2 events directly referenced but knowledge not required for plot comprehension, they're cameos more than anything really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-15 12:24:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3447101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eva_cybele/pseuds/eva_cybele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mitsuru receives an invitation to Kei Nanjo's birthday, and it presents an excellent opportunity to obtain some information on the events of Mikage and Sumaru City, events that might have involved Persona users. Or it could be a trap. Unfortunately, the party is fancy dress, and Mitsuru needs backup that can also double as her date for the night.</p><p>Enter Akihiko Sanada, some really nice clothes, and a mission that encounters a few obstacles: some expected, some definitely not.</p><p>Takes place in the P3P female protagonist timeline, post-Persona 4 Arena Ultimax.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. of invitations and opportunities

**Author's Note:**

> Originally conceived as a quick one-shot birthday gift for the ever-wonderful tumblr user retrodynamics, this thing mutated steadily until it became that multichapter thing I've always wanted to write, about how Akihiko and Mitsuru learn to work through their problems, their communication issues, and the ghost of the past that hangs in the space between them.

Mitsuru Kirijo was sitting on the edge of her enormous four poster bed, teacup and saucer in hand, listening to Kikuno rifle through her wardrobe for the day’s outfit, when another member of the estate’s waitstaff burst into her bedroom, holding a small envelope.

“Lady Mitsuru, this came for you just now. By courier, not through the mail.”

In general, Mitsuru hated to be disturbed before she’d dressed and finished her morning tea, but she waved off Kikuno’s scolding of the girl and took the envelope herself. It was made of thick, heavy cardstock, and her name was written on the front in elegant script. No return address, nor postage, and sealed with wax, but with no identifying design. Strange. She uncurled her legs from underneath her and stood, pacing over to her dressing screen.

“Did you get a look at the person who delivered it?”

From beyond the screen, she heard the rustle of a crisp bow. “I’m sorry, my lady. It was a young man on a motorbike, but he did not remove his helmet, nor did he have any identifying marks. We scanned it for any harmful substances, of course, but it came up clean.”

Shucking her robe and nightgown, Mitsuru broke the seal on the envelope. Within was a simple card, cordially inviting her and a guest to the Nanjo estate for Kei Nanjo’s thirty-third birthday celebration the following Saturday. The method of delivery and lack of notice would have been odd enough for a simple social call, but considering the meager scraps of information that the Shadow Operatives had unearthed concerning Nanjo and his friends in a town called Mikage -- not terribly significant on their own, but indicative of a large scale cover-up -- there was no way this could be a normal party invitation.

“Thank you, Aiko. You are dismissed.” Another rustle and the sharp click of the door shutting announced the girl’s departure.

With a speculative hum, she handed the card to Kikuno, pulling on the red blouse and black skirt that had been laid out for her. “What do you think, Kikuno?”

“In my opinion, Lady Mitsuru, it looks like a trap.”

“I thought the same. We’ve been trying to get eyes in the Nanjo mansion for almost a year now, and now this opportunity all but falls in our lap? It’s suspicious, but what choice do we have? This could be our only chance.” Stepping out from behind the screen, Mitsuru slid into the seat at her vanity, and closed her eyes as Kikuno worked a brush through her curls, taming and smoothing them until they lay in soft waves against her back.

When she had finished, the maid lingered behind her for a moment, and Mitsuru met her gaze in the mirror. “My lady, I do not think you should go alone. But to bring one of us would be considered a terrible insult to Mister Nanjo’s own household staff.”

“Did you have an alternative in mind?” Truth be told, Mitsuru didn’t relish the thought of walking alone into what may well be enemy territory, her family’s good relationship with the Nanjo Group notwithstanding.

“The invitation allows for a guest. Perhaps you could take one of the male Shadow Operatives with you, under the guise of your date? As protection, as well as assistance?”

A small smile twitched the corners of Mitsuru’s mouth. “Two in harmony exceeds one in perfection, hm?” She mentally flipped through the men under her command. Ideally, she would need someone she trusted, who possessed both strength and intelligence, as well as sufficient good looks as to be believed to have caught the eye of a much sought-after heiress. The ability to summon a persona and fight without needing a weapon was also a plus.

Based on her criteria, there was only one choice.

“Kikuno, please clear my engagements for the morning, and have a suit prepared for Akihiko as soon as possible. I trust you still have his measurements?” When he’d shown up in Japan after two years of wandering, shirtless and wearing a cape of all things, part of their deal to get him back into university and onto the Shadow Operative payroll had included withholding a portion of his salary for a wardrobe that her stylist would select. That he would then be required to wear. At all times.

Kikuno smiled faintly and bowed. “Of course. I’ll also acquire something new for you to wear and schedule you a manicure, my lady.”

Mitsuru nodded her thanks, and strode out of her bedroom. According to Aigis’s regular updates, Akihiko did not leave for his Monday morning class for an hour, so he should still be at home. If she was quick, she could catch him there. That was as good an excuse as any to take her motorcycle.

This was shaping up to be a very interesting morning.

\---

Akihiko Sanada slowly became aware of a knocking at his door as it filtered through the noise of his post-run shower. Cursing under his breath, he turned off the water and dried in a hurry, pulling on a pair of pants on his way to the door. There was no telling how long Aigis had been out there, and the last time he’d taken his time answering the door, she’d just kicked it open and walked in on him in the shower.

“What the hell, Aigis, I’m not even running late--”

He yanked open his door, bare-chested, hair dripping, and jeans still unbuttoned, only to come face-to-face with, not an annoying android, but Mitsuru Kirijo herself, looking as pressed and polished as always.

Her eyes skimmed down and back up once before focusing on his face, and if it were anyone else, Akihiko might have thought she was blushing. He rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat. “Uh, hey, Mitsuru. What’s up?”

“Good morning, Akihiko. I’m sorry, I probably should have called ahead, but there’s been a development that I wished to discuss in person.” Just like that, she was all business again, the momentary awkwardness banished from her expression, and Akihiko stepped to the side to let her in.

“Sure, just let me go finish getting dressed.” He paused long enough to see her nod, then dashed into his bedroom.

When he came out, fully clothed (because one lecture on the societal importance of shirts was more than enough), she was was seated on his couch, looking around in curiosity. He was briefly, deeply glad that he’d cleaned his apartment yesterday. Akihiko settled onto the cushion at the other end of the sofa, eyebrows raised in anticipation. “So what’s so important that you had to come all the way here to talk to me about it?”

Mitsuru tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and smiled. “I need you to go to a party with me.”

There was no way that an invitation to a fancy society event was the real reason she was here, so he just shrugged. “Sure. What’s the catch?”

“It’s at Kei Nanjo’s mansion, and will also double as a reconnaissance mission.”

Now _that_ was more like it. A spike of adrenaline flooded Akihiko’s bloodstream at the thought of getting some action -- things had been too damn quiet in the months following the events in Inaba, and he was eager to get back into the thick of things, even if the mission was sneaking, and not beating the pulp out of shadows. “You know I’m in. What do you need me to do?”

“You’ll be posing as my escort for the evening. We will attend the party, then slip away and locate Kei Nanjo’s computer, at which point we will attempt to hack his intranet via a device that Shadow Operative R&D will provide.” On the surface, Mitsuru was calm, but Akihiko had known her long enough to catch the gleam in her eyes, the slight change in her intonation. She was as excited as he was, and for a minute, it felt like the old days. “It’s next Saturday. I will send a car to bring you to my home for a debriefing, and then we will go together to the Nanjo estate. Kikuno will provide you with suitable clothing sometime this week -- if any alterations need to be made, she should leave a way for you to get into contact with her.”

Akihiko’s anticipation dimmed a little at that. No doubt he’d have to wear a suit, and those things were damn hard to move in.

Mitsuru smiled, no doubt following his train of thought even without it being vocalized. “Don’t look so disgruntled. Look on the bright side -- at least you won’t have to wear a ball gown.”

Her nose wrinkled in distaste, and Akihiko almost laughed at the expression, so at odds with her put-together look. He didn’t get many chances nowadays to see the woman beneath the queenly mask she wore -- half the time, when he looked at her at work, he could swear that he saw Artemisia instead of Mitsuru. And she was so busy that seeing her outside of work was a rarity in and of itself, now that they didn’t live in the same building.

It would be nice to spend some time together, working towards a common goal with only each other to rely on, like it had been in the years between Shinji leaving and Takeba joining.

A chime sounded from his cell phone (probably the ‘get to school before Aigis drags you there’ alarm he’d set the previous week) and it seemed to startle Mitsuru out of her ease and back into professional mode.

“I should let you get to class.” She rose from the couch and smoothed her skirt, preparing to leave, and Akihiko jumped up, grabbing his phone and keys.

“I’ll walk you out. The parking garage is on the way to my train stop, anyways.”

Mitsuru paused while he locked his door, then fell easily in step as he descended the stairs. They’d reached the first floor when she interrupted their comfortable silence with an almost mischievous smile. “Would you like a ride to school, by any chance?”

He really should have known that meant her motorcycle, and that a couple of years wouldn’t have changed her tendency to drive it like a demon-possessed madwoman, but as he sat in his first class, fifteen minutes early and still shaking slightly from the adrenaline, he felt better than he had in weeks.


	2. of fancy parties and social missteps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akihiko and Mitsuru commence their mission, and run into a few problems along the way.

The days passed in a blur, with Akihiko only paying the barest of attention to his classes. All of his focus was poured into training, though he did force himself to sit down and study during the evenings. If he let himself fall behind out of simple excitement, then he was no better than Junpei. And after all the lectures he’d heard Mitsuru give their juniors, and all the strings she’d had to pull to get him back into university, he didn’t really want to risk her wrath.

Only a few things of note happened over the days between Mitsuru’s visit and the party -- he ate lunch with Shinji a few times, ran into Junpei (who had initially thought that the mission was a _date_ , which was probably the most ridiculous thing Akihiko had heard since he’d been back, and that included jumping into TVs to fight Shadows), and then Kikuno brought his suit by on the Wednesday before the party, insisting that he try it on. It fit perfectly, because of course it did, but then Mitsuru’s maid asked a question that stopped him in his tracks:

“Sanada-san, do you know how to dance?”

He, in fact, did not, and Kikuno shook her head in disapproval.

“You will be posing as Lady Mitsuru’s date -- it would be highly unusual if you did not dance with her at least once.”

And that was how Akihiko Sanada ended up learning the waltz in his living room with a maid as his stern and altogether unforgiving teacher. As it turns out, dancing was a lot like boxing, in that you had to keep track of your hands and feet in relation to your partner’s, only instead of trying to hit them, you were trying not to step on their toes. Akihiko had always prided himself on his spatial awareness, and the rhythm wasn’t too hard, so he felt reasonably confident.

Then Kikuno had nodded, seemingly in approval, and said she’d be back at the same time the next day for another lesson.

For the three days up to the party, instead of doing strength and endurance training, he was learning the basics of various different kinds of formal dances, until Kikuno judged him passable enough that he wouldn’t embarrass her mistress. On Friday, Shinji had stopped by, taken one look at what was going on, and left. Akihiko wasn’t sure, but he thought the man might have been laughing.

He was _definitely_ never living that one down.

Saturday dawned clear and sunny, and Akihiko spent the day working out, running, clearing his mind of any distractions. Then he went home, put on the three piece suit that was hanging in his closet, and waited for his ride to Mitsuru’s. If he hadn’t had to worry about the clothes, he probably would have just run there, out of pure desire to be in motion.

It was probably a good thing he hadn’t, considering that Mitsuru wasn’t ready when he got there. Instead, he stood around in her sitting room, which was roughly the size of his entire apartment, trying not to touch anything or wrinkle his clothing too badly.

About twenty minutes later, Mitsuru descended the stairs, and Akihiko felt vaguely like his jaw was going to hit the carpet. It wasn’t like he was blind -- Mitsuru was, and had always been, completely gorgeous. Even he could see that, and he was, admittedly, really dumb when it came to women. But there was a difference between objectively knowing that your best friend was a total knock-out, and being the recipient of aforementioned knock-out punch. She was wearing a gorgeous ankle-length black dress, that was slit up one side from hem to hip, with sheer black thigh-high stockings underneath. The silk clung to her upper body, wrapping in a chokehold around her neck, and Akihiko could see the hint of silver chains draping over her shoulders.  Her curls were twisted at the nape of her neck in a bun that looked both elegant and effortless, but Akihiko was sure it had taken hours to get it to look like that.

As she walked past him to take a sheer black shawl from a waiting maid, the point of the chains became clear. The dress was backless, and nestled against her spine in the hollow of her shoulderblades was a silver snake, attached to the rest of the dress with platinum chain links. It was a good thing Mitsuru was nearly impervious to cold, because the metal and the cut of the dress would have undoubtedly left lesser women shivering in the October evening air. The ivory of her skin almost glowed with warmth against the silver, and Akihiko was seized with the ridiculous, very inappropriate urge to touch and see if it was as soft as it looked. Which was a good way to get himself executed.

“Sorry about the wait, this,” and Mitsuru gestured to her dress with one freshly-manicured hand, “took longer than expected.”

Akihiko shoved his hands in his pockets to keep them from getting him in trouble, and leaned against a wall, shrugging in a way he really hoped was cool and nonchalant and not horribly, desperately awkward. “It’s fine. You look great.”

Red lips (the same shade as her hair) curved up in a small smile. “Thank you. You don’t look bad yourself.” She crossed the room and straightened his collar until it was up to her standards, and Akihiko tried to tell himself that he definitely did not notice how nice her hair smelled.

“Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

Right. The mission. The entire reason he was here, being subjected to this wholly confusing encounter with Mitsuru, one of his two best friends, whom he’d known since _middle school_ , in a really pretty dress.

One of Mitsuru’s maids spread a large map of the Nanjo Estate grounds on the table in the sitting room, advising them of all the exits and places that guards were likely to be stationed, outlining the best routes from the ballroom in the east wing to Kei Nanjo’s study in the central part of the house on the second floor. They would have a short window while the security cameras were down to get in and get out, without attracting notice to themselves.

Another woman gave Mitsuru a small device that looked like a flash drive, but would supposedly search any hard drives on the Nanjo Group’s intranet for encrypted files and send a copy directly back to Shadow Operative HQ. They’d be going in essentially blind -- Mitsuru had considered tapping Yamagishi for backup, or at least setting up a radio with the Operatives outside the party, but who knew what kind of observational equipment the Nanjo Group had access to, and what they could pick up on. Kei Nanjo was a famously neurotic billionaire with possible access to persona-related abilities or technology. There was no telling what they’d face inside, and while Mitsuru’s wealth and name could probably get them out of any difficulties they encountered, an external team might not be so lucky.

For security reasons, they couldn’t be given a digital copy of the map, but Akihiko knew Mitsuru well enough to guess that she’d already memorized the thing.

After the maid in charge of map detail was finished, Kikuno took over the debriefing. “Our reports state that Kei Nanjo will not be in attendance tonight, and that the gathering is simply being thrown in his name.”

Akihiko blinked in surprise. The guy couldn’t even be bothered to show up for his own birthday party? “Does that seem suspicious to anyone else?”

Mitsuru shook her head. “It’s not unusual. The social demands of wealth often exceed one’s desire to partake in them -- the only way to mollify the society wives is to either occasionally show your face at one of their fundraisers, or throw your own parties. I typically opt for the former, but Kei Nanjo is known for the latter. That he doesn’t attend doesn’t really matter -- he’s footing the bill and giving the gossip pages something to talk about. The fact that he’s unattached only increases the appeal of his aloofness. Which then makes him more reclusive, which in turn further glamorizes him. I believe you’re familiar with the phenomenon.”

She was referring to his ‘fan club,’ of course, and Akihiko felt a small flash of companionship for the man.

After a brief silence, Kikuno turned to Akihiko specifically and began explaining his duties. “Lady Mitsuru is modestly armed with diamond-tipped nails, steel stiletto heels, and an ivory hairpin,” --that was _modestly_ armed?-- “but if it comes to conflict, you are responsible both for her safety and for the success of this mission. Though that is obviously a last resort.”

Akihiko waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. I don’t go around trying to fight everyone I meet, you know.”

The maid simply raised her eyebrows, clearly skeptical, and Mitsuru stifled a laugh. “We should get going.”

“What have you been telling your maid army about me, anyways?”

“Akihiko.”

“No, seriously!”

The redhead shook her head and tucked one hand into the crook of his elbow, pulling him towards the door. “Just get in the car.”

\---

Mitsuru did not make a habit of attending many of the social gatherings that her peers were so fond of throwing -- she accepted the bare minimum of invitations as to not be seen as unspeakably rude, or a recluse, but no more. It had been easier when she was in high school, and could claim the need to study, but now that she had officially abdicated from running the Kirijo Group, and most of her time was occupied with an organization that no one could know existed, it was difficult to dodge her social obligations.

It wasn’t that she necessarily hated them -- they were excellent networking opportunities, if nothing else -- but more that her gender was emphasized and criticized even more harshly than usual in this kind of setting. An unaccompanied woman was seen as a curiosity at best, and a conquest at worst. She could not employ the same tactics to make herself respected and heard as she would in a boardroom or on a battlefield.

At least she was accustomed to these things, however, which was a luxury that Akihiko did not have. No doubt he’d be as uncomfortable as she’d been on her first visit to Wild Duck Burger.

“I’ll be expected to mingle and make small talk for a while after we arrive. You needn’t worry about interacting with these people more than you wish to -- it’s typical for guests to simply observe. If anyone asks, you are a university-level boxing champion sponsored by the Kirijo Group, and that is how we met.”

“Well, at least part of that is true. So, basically, don’t speak unless spoken to, and do my best to look decorative?”

His tone was wry, but Mitsuru felt a tinge of guilt at forcing him into the role she’d been avoiding for much of her life. “Essentially.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t let you down.”

The limo shuddered to a stop, and Mitsuru met Akihiko’s smile with one of her own. How many times had she looked up to see that look in his eyes? A little overeager, and not nearly so cautious as she wished, but unfailingly confident, not only in himself but in her?

“I know.”

He never had.

The chauffeur opened the door and offered his hand, and Mitsuru took it. Time to go to work.

\---

“Running your father’s company must have been so stressful! It was wise of you to leave it the capable hands of your boardmembers, darling. And now you can devote your time to your hobbies! How grand.”

It was getting harder and harder to stay smiling as the hour wore on. Akihiko’s jokes and quiet impressions of the people they were meeting were keeping her grounded and amused, but the remarks just seemed to get more snide and harder to ignore.

But it was when Nanami Tomoe, a young socialite from Tokyo, stroked Akihiko’s cheek with the back of her hand and asked Mitsuru if she could “borrow” him later, that her good humor finally cracked.

Her hand snapped up and seized the woman’s wrist, nails pressing down hard enough to hurt but not drawing blood. “People are not dresses, or shoes, or any other object that can be lent out and returned worn and sullied. Mind your manners, Miss Tomoe, or I may decide to ‘borrow’ your father’s company. Just because I do not personally head my company does not mean that I am powerless, and the Kirijo Group is always open to new investment opportunities.”

As soon as she let go, Nanami swirled off in a teary huff, and Akihiko was left looking caught between discomfort and awe. “Remind me to never make you mad.”

“I believe you already learned that particular lesson, Akihiko.” She smiled at him, faintly, then frowned. “I do apologize. I know you hate being fawned over, and she was worse than most.”

He shook his head and shrugged. “I’m not going to tell you that it didn’t make me uncomfortable, but it’s not _your_ fault, so I don’t know why you’re apologizing.”

“Well, I did invite you, and perhaps I have not been sending the correct signals. We should probably act more like a couple.” It felt a bit like staking a claim, which was the same sort of thing that Nanami had just done, but Akihiko didn’t seem overly repulsed by the idea.

Instead, he held out his hand. “Right. Couple stuff. Like dancing?”

Mitsuru hesitantly placed her right hand in his, looking at him in suspicion. “Dancing would be a good start, yes. You know how to waltz?”

“How hard can it be?” He grinned and walked her out into the center of the room. His left hand briefly bumped against the ridiculous metal serpent that made up the back of her dress (why her stylist had chosen this particular design, Mitsuru had no idea) but then settled, large and warm and pleasantly calloused, against the small of her back.

A bolder move than she’d expected, but absolutely in character for a couple on a romantic date. Akihiko was looking at her a bit warily, but when she placed her free hand on his shoulder and didn’t turn him into an ice statue, he relaxed a bit.

Their first few steps were clumsy, but Mitsuru quickly realized that _she_ was the problem -- expecting Akihiko to be unfamiliar with the dance, she had tried to lead, but so had he. Worse, she was slightly out of rhythm, while he was not. When she surrendered the lead, they flowed smoothly around the dance floor.

“I thought all rich girls knew how to do this stuff.”

The challenging note in his voice rankled, and she lifted her chin in haughty defiance. “I _do_ know how to dance. I’m merely out of practice at leading. If you hadn’t noticed, I’m quite a busy woman. My question is, where did you learn the waltz?”

“What, like no orphan anywhere could ever learn to ballroom dance?”

“That’s not what I--”

His right hand squeezed hers, and he cut her off with a grin. “I’m teasing. Kikuno gave me lessons this week. She didn’t want me to embarrass you in public.”

Mitsuru inclined her head, somewhat mollified. “You could never.”

She thought she saw his ears turn a bit pink, and a warm, heavy silence settled between them as they moved together. Akihiko was not particularly skilled -- some of the other dancers made much bolder flourishes as he kept them to the basics -- but Mitsuru didn’t mind. It was nice to follow the simple steps she’d known since childhood, with space to breathe and no need to speak. The song ended and Akihiko let her go, and she found some part of herself aching at the loss as they walked off the dance floor.

Casual physical contact had never been a feature in her life -- her mother died too young, her father was too reserved, and she didn’t truly even have friends until she’d met Akihiko and Shinjiro. Touch was associated with the scientists who had brought out her persona abilities, with overfamiliar business associates of her father’s, with injuries and their healing. The closest she came was the efficient way that Kikuno brushed her hair and applied her makeup, never lingering longer than was appropriate for a favored maid and her mistress.

Even her juniors, who were so welcoming and inclusive in other ways, rarely went so far as to actually initiate contact. The few men that she had taken to bed in the years since graduation, she had not permitted to touch her at all. She had not, to be frank, trusted them enough. Either not to hurt her, or to see her made vulnerable.

Akihiko was another matter entirely. He had carried her back to the dorms after her father died, had never been anything but gentle and trustworthy and solid. He was her best friend, and even he needed the pretense of a cover identity to touch her, skin-to-skin.

It made her keenly aware that the problem lay with her, but while she had the excuse, she could make use of it, and justify it to herself later as necessary.

Coming to a halt near the bar, she leaned her head against Akihiko’s shoulder. The muscles under her cheek bunched in shock, and she could feel the slight shifting of his weight, as if he’d almost stumbled back. Flicking a look up at him through her eyelashes, she sighed impatiently.

He seemed to remember what they were supposed to look like to other people, and slid an arm around her shoulders, his hand stroking the skin of her upper arm as they waited for the bartender to hand them each a glass of red wine. Mitsuru took hers with a grateful nod, while Akihiko just eyed his like it might bite him. He leaned in closer, mouth near her ear, and murmured in an undertone, “How do you drink that stuff?”

“It’s an acquired taste, I’m told. As is that protein sludge you’re so fond of.”

“You realize that Shinji totally exaggerates that, right? I _do_ eat vegetables sometimes, and I don’t put protein in anything but shakes in the morning.” His voice sounded aggrieved -- she could only imagine, considering that that strange illusion that had worn his face in the initial Inaba incident hadn’t shut up about the virtues of protein for a second. Two-fisted protein junkie, indeed. Teasing him about it was fun, though, and mostly harmless.

Before she could respond, the small transmitter in the bracelet on her left wrist buzzed slightly. That was the signal, that the security cameras were occupied and a diversion was in progress. She put both her and Akihiko’s untouched wineglasses back on the bar, and steered him away with a hand on the middle of his back. “You know, as it turns out, I’m feeling a bit faint. Some fresh air and quiet would be nice.”

A small spark of static jumped to her hand, and Artemisia dimly registered the stirring of Caesar within Akihiko’s psyche, before he tamped down on his reaction and turned excitement into faked concern. “Of course. Let’s get you out of here.”

Once through the doors of the ballroom and into the deserted hallway beyond, Akihiko stripped out of his suit jacket, handing it to Mitsuru to wear, ostensibly for warmth, but really to cover the metallic sounds and distinctive look of her dress’s back. Movements slightly jerky with adrenaline, he rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt to the elbows and tugged on simple black leather gloves. Mitsuru paused to admire the reveal of his well-toned forearms for a split second, then quickly got her bearings and steered them off towards the door that led to the courtyard.

The security had been handled by an outside source, a team of professional burglars assembled by a shadow corporation that could not be traced back to the Kirijo Group. Any alarms or signs of entry could theoretically be blamed on their actions, even though it was all just a smokeshield for herself and Akihiko. Nanjo’s security was good, and the thieves would invariably be caught, but hopefully they’d buy enough time for the mission to go through.

The door to the central part of the house was unlocked, and Mitsuru threw it wide and stepped through.

Akihiko stopped beside her as she scanned for any irregularities. “We’re not being terribly sneaky about this.”

“There are two ways to get away with things -- either be below notice, or be above suspicion. I’ve been trying to walk the first path for the past year, and have my people infiltrate Nanjo’s waitstaff, but he’s as paranoid as I am, apparently. So that means we need to go the other route. If you walk with enough purpose and like you belong, most of the time people won’t question it. And even if they do, you can either play the fool or simply act as if the rules don’t apply to you.”

He gave her an odd look. “ _Do_ the rules apply to you? I've always wondered.”

The question gave her pause, and she mulled over it as they ascended the stairs. It was true, she was afforded certain privileges by her wealth, her position, her family name. Even beyond her father's legacy, she had her looks, her wits, and in some cases her gender to fall back on. Undoubtedly she could get away with things that her friends could not. All of those privileges established other limitations on her, as well, however, and there were things they could do that she could not. It was a double-edged sword, and she was too close to see which cut deeper.

“Of course. They’re just different rules.”

They made it to Nanjo’s study without incident; a few times the pounding of booted feet had echoed down a nearby hallway, and they’d caught their breath, but always the footsteps were headed to the north wing, where the thieves were supposed to be liberating corporation secrets.

When they reached the study, however, it wasn’t empty. Two men stood guard by the desk, and Akihiko moved, lightning quick, before either of them could so much as open their mouths. One fumbled for a gun, and was caught with a neat jab to the temple, stunning him. The other man had reached for his more accessible nightstick -- a much more practical weapon in the close quarters -- and Mitsuru aimed a kick to his midsection, knocking the wind out of him and allowing Akihiko to get inside his reach and drop him to the ground with a right cross.

The first man was stirring on the ground, and Mitsuru slammed a heel down on his hand as he tried to bring his weapon to bear. It didn’t break skin, but she felt the small bones splinter under her weight. The man shrieked a noise that trailed off into a sob, and Mitsuru felt a brief flash of regret before she remembered that he had fully intended to shoot one of them.

At Akihiko’s gesture, she moved away and he put the man in a chokehold, cutting off his air until he slumped to the ground, unconscious.

The whole encounter had taken less than a minute.

Efficient, and overall very clean -- neither guard was bleeding, nor had they sustained any injuries -- but Mitsuru could see the same uneasiness she felt reflected in Akihiko’s eyes. They were trained to fight shadows, for the most part, not people. Akihiko had his boxing matches, but they were sport, where you worried about scoring points and didn't aim for permanent injury. This had just been violence.

Shaking her head to clear it of thoughts that could addressed later, Mitsuru stepped over the still form of the nearest guard and pulled the flash drive-like device out of its hiding place in the top of her thigh-highs.

“Wait, _that’s_ where you were keeping that thing?”

She chuckled under her breath as she plugged the file scanner into a USB port. “I’m sorry, this dress doesn't exactly have pockets.”

“No, but I do!”

“This was a more secure location.”

Sneaking a quick glance at him, she took note of the red cheeks and decided not to tell him where she’d hidden her lipstick. He might faint from embarrassment. Funny how some things could faze him not at all, and others would fluster him to the point of blushing. Mitsuru wasn't exactly sure where the line lay, and a part of her wanted to find out. As research, of course. Learning more about the people she worked with. She had no personal stake in the answer.

They lapsed into silence, Akihiko splitting his attention between the two men, and Mitsuru watching the scanning progress bar. At about 75%, the radio on one of the fallen guards crackled, sounding the all-clear. The intruders had been apprehended, and security was to be on the lookout for any possible accomplices.

In an ideal world, the burglary would have persisted through the file transfer and until Mitsuru and Akihiko were safely back in the ballroom, but when had things ever gone exactly according to plan?

Mitsuru silently counted the moments until the progress bar filled and the program deleted any trace of its existence, at which point she snatched it out of the side of the laptop, tucked it back into her stocking, and hurried towards the door, Akihiko close on her heels. After a moment of hearing no footsteps, they ducked out, walking as quickly as possible without looking like they were running somewhere.

The first floor was somewhat more commonly traveled, but also much easier to explain their presence, so Mitsuru wordlessly placed a hand on Akihiko’s chest and slowed them to a walk, pulling his arm back around her shoulder as if they were just a normal couple, looking for a quiet corner away from the party.

They had made it to the courtyard when Akihiko’s head whipped to the side, catching the sound of a booted footstep on the cobblestone behind them a half-second before she did, and then he took a step forward, pressing her back into the wall of a nearby alcove. One gloved hand splayed on the stonework to the right of her cheek, and the whole length of his body nestled against hers in the small space.

This close, Mitsuru was treated to an up-close view of Akihiko’s neck, tendons standing out and casting stark shadows as he looked over his shoulder, and his pulse visibly ticking under the skin. It was slightly mesmerizing, and with an effort, she wrenched her attention away and pulled it inward, seeking out Artemisia’s senses and what they could tell her. It was hard, without any amplification, and humans were always more difficult to detect than Shadows, but after a moment she was sure -- the man had seen something suspicious, and he was headed this way.

A hissed curse from a few inches above her ear yanked her out of her reverie, and told her that Akihiko had come to the same conclusion. She weighed her options and discarded several contingency plans, before coming to rest on what was simultaneously the simplest, but also her last-choice scenario.

She sighed, almost inaudibly, and Akihiko’s eyes snapped to hers, waiting for a signal. Drawing herself up to her full height, she rested her cheek against his and murmured directly into his ear, “Do you trust me?”

He nodded slightly, his stubbled cheek rubbing against her own, and barely breathed one word: _always_.

She took a deep breath and forced herself towards calm and stillness, then exhaled. “Follow my lead.” Pulling back as she heard a voice call out towards them, she curled her hands in his vest, pulled him forward the inch that separated them, and kissed him, hard.

Pressed as she was against him, Mitsuru could feel every single muscle in Akihiko’s body go rigid, tensing in shock. Just as she was sure he was about to jerk away and ask if she’d lost her mind, the hand that wasn’t propped against the wall slid behind her neck, tangling in her hair and tugging her even closer. Mitsuru suddenly found herself being kissed back, thoroughly, fervently, and it shot through her like an electrical current, dragging in its wake a moan that was only half-faked for their audience.

“Just what the hell do you know think you’re doing, huh?”

A nightstick thudded against Akihiko’s shoulder with enough force that Mitsuru felt it, and just like that, the kiss ended so abruptly that it left her gasping. She watched as Akihiko turned, his entire body coiled to strike, but pulled himself up short at the last moment. “Do you _mind_?”

He was a better actor than she’d ever given him credit for -- had she not known better, Mitsuru would have thought him a man truly infuriated to interrupted.

The security guard actually recoiled a little from the snarl, but then recovered his composure. “Sir, this courtyard is restricted for guests, you can’t be here.”

Akihiko still looked like he wanted to punch the man, so Mitsuru took the opportunity to speak up. “I’m so sorry, we were just looking for a little privacy, I didn’t realize this area was off limits.” The excuse might have worked better with an air-headed giggle or big innocent eyes or something to convince the man that she was just some silly socialite who didn’t know any better, but Mitsuru had never been able to make that particular mask look genuine, so she opted for quiet, meek apologizing.

The ability to come off as submissive and vulnerable was one that had always been helpful in dealing with her father’s associates, but she hadn’t used it since she broke her engagement. The act put a bad taste in her mouth.

Fortunately, the guard’s scowl softened, and though he shot a suspicious look at Akihiko -- the implications were quite obvious, a large violent man looming dangerously over a small meek woman in the dark -- he nodded brusquely and escorted them inside and to the door of the ballroom, where the party was still in full swing. “Take care, miss. Try not to let yourself get lost next time -- you never know what kind of people may be about.”

As soon as the guard was out of earshot, Akihiko shoved a hand through his hair and stared at her. “What the hell was that?”

Mitsuru had expected him to be displeased with her methods, but the barely contained fury in his voice hurt. Slipping easily out of his coat, she looked to the side, and her voice came out frostier than she’d intended. “It was a diversion, Akihiko.”

He waved a hand in dismissal, but she saw his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed at the mention of their little ‘incident.’ “Not-- not _that_ , I meant that thing you did, where you made yourself look, like, I don’t know... small. Weak. Afraid. Of him, and of me.”

That was what he was angry about? Mitsuru shook her head. “It was just an act, Akihiko. I’m not afraid of you. You should know that. It was no different than you acting angry when the guard ‘interrupted’ us.”

He visibly recoiled and paced away, looking like he’d like nothing better than to put his fist through the hallway’s fancy wood paneling. “An act. Right. Of course.” He rubbed the back of one hand across his mouth, belatedly seeming to realize that he was still wearing his gloves. He stripped them off and rolled down his shirtsleeves as he spoke. “I do know that you’re not scared of me. Of course I do. You can knock me flat on my ass in the time it takes to say Bufudyne. What I mean is -- Mitsuru, why are you even able to _do_ that? If I didn’t know you better, I _would_ have been fooled. That’s something you’ve done before. Why?”

Oh. _That_. “It was helpful to appear meek and compliant when dealing with...certain men, while I was growing up. It was expected of me. That I be a dutiful, well-behaved daughter, who would grow into a dutiful, well-behaved wife.” Admitting it out loud hurt, even years after she’d successfully unshackled herself from her fate. She’d almost given up everything, even herself, and if hadn’t been for Minako, she may not have had the bravery to stand up for herself and fight what had been planned her entire life.

Minako. Minako, who had helped Mitsuru in more ways than she could count, who had sacrificed herself, who had been in love with Akihiko --

The feeling of betrayal rose up into her throat, hot and thick and sour. Minako was dead, and Mitsuru had just kissed her boyfriend, and _liked_ it. Oh _god_.

“That ex-fiance of yours had better pray that I never find him.”

For a moment, Mitsuru was so consumed in her own thoughts that Akihiko’s words -- more like a growl, really, she had rarely ever heard him that angry -- sounded like a hilarious nonsequitur. She honestly almost laughed.

Instead, she shoved everything down -- the hysteria, the nausea, the unexpected and entirely unwelcome lingering arousal -- and reached for the comforting, familiar cold of composure. Artemisia rose within her, settling just under her skin and chilling her emotions until she could think past them again. What mattered was that their reconnaissance had succeeded. Though not without a few hitches, but none that could be reliably traced back to them.

Smoothing the front of her dress, Mitsuru met Akihiko’s eyes, and saw the exact moment that he noticed the change in her mood. Anger faded out into confusion and hesitance, and a distant part of her regretted the shift. _Later_. She’d think about all of this later. For now, they had a party to attend.

She held out Akihiko’s suit jacket, and pretended she didn’t see the worried way his eyes lingered on her face as he took it. “I think we’ve been gone long enough. Our absence will have been noted. We should finish the mission.”

With that, she turned and headed back into the ballroom without a backwards glance.

\---

Akihiko saw the wall of ice slam down around Mitsuru, encasing her in a protective sheath of frost that was almost physical. What he didn’t know was what had caused it. Had he said something to upset her? Sure, he’d threatened her ex-fiance, but he was sure that couldn’t be it. From everything he understood, she couldn’t stand the man. Maybe she was angry that he’d gotten so worked up about it? Maybe she thought that he was being too protective, that he thought of her as weak?

That just reminded him of the way her voice and body language had shifted when she’d spoken to the security guard, which churned up the sick fury in his gut all over again. She’d been damn near unrecognizable, losing all the steel that comprised the core of who he thought of as Mitsuru Kirijo. It would have been like seeing Shinji without all that stubborn, cranky warmth, or Yukari without her acidic affection. It was just _wrong_.

The worry managed to completely blot out everything else, and it only increased when, after they’d returned to the ballroom, he’d tried to resume the charade of being her date. Trying to touch her, as she’d insisted on earlier, made her tense up so much that he thought she might actually sprain something. She didn’t pull away, but it was beyond obvious that his touch was completely unwanted and unwelcome, which was a total shift from before.

This Mitsuru was a night and day change from the relaxed, smiling woman he’d walked in with, who’d let him lead her on the dance floor and looked pleasantly surprised when he’d done a decent job at it. Before, she’d been happy, and warm, and present. Now she was detached, clearly counting down the moments until they could get out of here, until she could get away from _him_.

He managed to make it until they said their goodbyes and climbed back into the car before he thought about the way she’d kissed him, all searing heat and soft curves, pulling him in like metal to a lodestone. An act, she’d said -- a diversionary tactic meant to distract the guard. God, if that was Mitsuru _acting_ at passion, he wondered what the real thing felt like. Heaven only knew his desire to punch that damn guard hadn’t been fiction, even if Mitsuru had clearly thought so.

With an effort, he banished the entire train of thought. It had just been a while, since--well, since, and his blood had been up from being spotted. He would have reacted the same way if any gorgeous woman had wrapped herself around him and kissed him. It wasn’t as if the fact that it was Mitsuru Kirijo in his arms had any bearing on the situation. The thing had happened once, and if her demeanor was any clue, he’d best just forget it had ever happened at all.

Better for their friendship that way, anyways.

Not that he was really feeling like much of a friend at the moment, with Mitsuru sitting literally as far across the limo as she could, speaking over the phone to Shadow Operative HQ with not much more inflection in her voice than Aigis had before she’d discovered her humanity.

She didn’t look at or speak to him until the car rolled to a stop, and the chauffeur held open the door. They hadn’t gone far enough to have reached Mitsuru’s house or HQ, and Akihiko looked out the door with some confusion. It took a moment to realize that the car was stopped in front of his apartment building.

“Wait, why are we stopping here?”

“It will take some time to de-encrypt the data we recovered, and your presence is not needed for that. I can handle any debriefings that are required. Your performance was exemplary as always, Akihiko, and I thank you for your contribution.” The tone was a clear dismissal, as if he were just one of the countless men and women who worked for her, not her best and oldest friend in the world, her _partner_ , for fuck’s sake.

He almost lost it, almost started yelling, when he noticed that her hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists on her lap, but even that was not quite enough to keep them from shaking. The anger receded, and he reached a hand towards her. “Mitsuru, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

She shook her head and glanced to the side, like she couldn't bear to look at him anymore. “Akihiko. _Please_. Just-- leave.”

He couldn’t even begin to identify all the emotions in her voice, and in the face of that intensity, he did the only thing he could do.

He got out of the car.


	3. of serious discussions and serious consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the fallout from the Nanjo mission, Akihiko seeks some help from an old friend. And in the midst of all this emotional drama, something very important goes unnoticed.

It was becoming steadily more obvious that Mitsuru was avoiding him. A week had passed since the mission, and he’d left her a half a dozen voicemails, countless text messages, and even gone to her house once, only to be turned away at the door.

Busy, her household staff had said. Not to be interrupted.

Rhythmic thumps echoed through Akihiko’s apartment as he delivered punch after punch to the hanging bag in his room. No matter how many times he replayed that evening’s events, he couldn’t find the exact point where everything had started to slide sideways straight into hell. The best thing he had been able to come up with was asking Yukari if she could find out for him, but even she had hit a brick wall. Yukari was Mitsuru’s friend, sure, but she wasn’t a mind reader, nor preternaturally gifted with teasing secrets out of people, like Minako had been.

It was times like these that he missed her most. Well, these and basically every other moment he was conscious. And occasionally when he slept.

Her death had hit him hard, and Akihiko knew himself well enough by now to see why. He’d told her early on that she reminded him of Miki, and that had been true enough in some ways. Miki’s death had shaped his entire life, defined him in ways he couldn’t even begin to quantify. Mitsuru had given him an outlet for his anger, directed it, and then Minako had tempered it somewhat and let him hope for a future, during a time when hope was in damned short supply. He’d made all these plans for the future, despite the threat that literally hung in the sky above them, and made himself believe that they’d come true. They had to. There was no room for failure against Nyx, because he had promises to keep.

But then she’d died, and that hope had gone with her. Two years of wandering and thinking and getting into too many stupid fights had finally led him back here, to Iwatodai, with the realization that even if he’d failed to protect her, she’d died for a reason. She’d died so that he (among others) could keep living, and he was doing her memory a disservice if he didn’t actually live his life. And his life was in Iwatodai, with his friends.

Shinji had taken one look at him when he’d gotten back and said he was a moron for needing two years to figure that out.

Letting go had never been one of Akihiko’s strong points -- he was more of the never back down, never surrender type, even when it hurt to hold on.

Maybe that was why it was bothering him so damn much to have gotten out of the car. It felt too much like giving up, too much like the night when Mitsuru had lost her father and there’d been nothing he could do to help her, only this time it had apparently been something he’d done.

And there was nothing farther from protecting the people you cared about than hurting them.

Akihiko only narrowly restrained himself from putting his fist through the punching bag.

Stripping off his gloves in irritation, he pointedly ignored the stack of homework on his desk, grabbed his keys and phone, and headed downstairs. His apartment was a short walk from the bar where Shinji worked on weekend nights. Maybe he’d be able to make some sense of whatever the hell had happened that night. And if not, well, there was always the possibility of getting to hit something that would actually fight back, and that might help too.

The bar was mostly empty, which wasn’t unusual. It was kind of a dive, the kind that attracted jaded single men and scared away most of the university crowd that poured out on the weekends. Akihiko still wasn’t entirely sure why Shinji worked there, as opposed to… anywhere else, really.

He passed the perky redheaded waitress who was serving at one of the only occupied booths, and settled down at the bar, down a ways from where Shinji was cleaning glasses. It was still weird to see him without the coat and beanie, his hair pulled back in a small ponytail and wearing an apron, of all things, but Akihiko hoped that was because the anti-suppressant treatments Mitsuru had him on were working. It was funny to think that without the six months he’d spent in a coma, giving Kirijo R&D a head start on developing a way to reverse the degeneration, it was likely they would have lost him by now anyway. He almost owed Takaya for that. Almost.

“What the hell are you doing here, Aki?”

Anyone who didn’t know him better might have been put off by the grumpiness in his voice, but Akihiko had spent years developing an immunity to it, so he just shrugged. “Needed to get out of the house for a while.”

Stifling a sigh, Shinji walked over and rested his elbows on the bar in front of Akihiko, giving him a long, measuring look. “What’s up? You look like you’re about ready to start punching shit. Or crying.”

Normally, the dig would have gotten under his skin a little, riled him up and seen him issuing some sort of inane challenge that would have ended with him and Shinji beating the snot out of each other. Stress relief in the form of violence. They’d been in exactly one stupid fight since Akihiko had gotten back, one that had ended when he’d busted Shinji’s lip open and then almost thrown up at the sight. The October full moon three years ago had shown him enough of his friend’s blood to last a lifetime.

“I think I might have screwed up. Bad.”

Most of the latent antagonism in Shinji’s face drained away at that, leaving him quiet and grave as he waited on Akihiko to elaborate.

The boxer sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair, frustrated. He’d come here for the sole reason of talking to Shinji about this, but the words wouldn’t sort themselves out in his head. How did he just come out and say, _hey Shinji, guess what, I think I might have accidentally ruined one of the most important friendships in my life, and I have no idea how. Also, as a sidenote, Mitsuru kissed me, which was weird, but not necessarily in a bad way, but that might just be because my last kiss with a girl (who happens to be our dead mutual ex-girlfriend) was over two years ago._

Akihiko dropped his forehead to the bar and groaned.

A sigh echoed above his head somewhere, and then a glass settled with a small thunk next to his face. “Drink that. You look like you could use it.”

Raising his head, Akihiko eyed the glass. “What’s in it?”

“Something that’ll make it easier for you to spit out what’s bothering you so damn much, hopefully.” Shinji’s voice was dry, but he moved down the bar with the clear intention of not coming back until Akihiko had finished the drink.

It wasn’t like he’d never had alcohol before. He had drank on occasion during his traveling, especially in countries where the water wasn’t to be trusted. He’d just never really developed much of a taste for it.

Shinji did have a point, though.

Swirling the liquid contemplatively, he took a small sip, trying not to cough as it seared its way down his throat. After the initial burn, though, the heat settled comfortably in the middle of his stomach, radiating outwards into his limbs. Stronger than the weak beer he’d tried, but not terrible tasting.

The glass was empty before he knew it, and Shinji was back to take it from him. “How do you feel now?”

Akihiko stared at the bar, trying to focus on the grain of the wood, but it kept moving, like waves. “Fuzzy and warm, mostly.”

“Ready to talk?”

The words were just as jumbled in his head, but it felt like the obstacles had been removed, and the whole story just sort of slid out of his mouth without him thinking about it.

By the end of it, Shinji was shaking his head in pure disbelief. “Well, I guess that explains why I saw you dancing in your living room with a maid, anyways. That’s pretty much the only part of this whole thing that makes any damn sense.”

Akihiko sighed dramatically. “I know. Girls are so confusing.”

“I’m pretty sure we’ve talked about how you can’t judge all girls purely based off of Mitsuru Kirijo. She’s not exactly what I’d call normal. This _is_ weird, though, even for her.”

“I didn’t mean to make her mad! I wish she’d just tell me what I did instead of avoiding me. I don’t want her to think that I think she’s some damsel in distress or something. She’s terrifying. But I like that about her.” Akihiko folded his arms on the bar and rested his chin on them. He _really_ liked that about her, actually, except on the very rare occasions that it was directed at him, like when Junpei dragged him into something dumb or she kicked his ass in full-contact sparring. At this point, though, he thought he’d take an execution instead of all this weird… silence.

“Aki, you ever think that maybe her problem isn’t with something you said, but the fact that she apparently shoved her tongue down your throat?”

That didn’t make any sense. She’d said it was just a distraction, and Mitsuru had always been able to separate mission stuff from personal stuff. She was objective in a way that he wasn’t. “Why? I’m her best friend. Mitsuru kissing me would be like me kissing you. Weird, but not like, never talk again weird. I mean, if you think about it, I’ve kind of indirectly--”

Shinji’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “No. Stop right there. Just fucking erase that entire concept from your brain. We are not even coming _close_ to talking about that.”

Oh. Whoops. Even mentioning Minako to Shinji was kind of a bad idea in the first place, much less referencing the fact that they’d both dated her. Well, Akihiko had dated her. Shinji just--

This time it was his turn to shake his head. Nope, shutting that down. Going there really _was_ a bad plan.

The universe took that moment to deliver a distraction, in the form of the waitress Akihiko had passed earlier. She plunked herself down on the barstool next to him and smiled. “Hi there!”

She was kind of cute, though that might have just been because of the hair. Red hair was nice. “Uh. Hi?”

“Leave the man alone, Erica. He sucks at talking to girls on a good day. Besides, don’t you have a boyfriend?”

“Ooh, someone’s protective. Friend of yours?”

Shinji sighed. “Something like that, yeah.”

Akihiko could feel his face contorting in a silly smile. “Awww, Shinji. Didn’t know you cared.”

“Shut up, moron.”

The girl -- Erica? -- laughed. “The boss says you can go ahead and take off, since things are so slow. You might want to get your _friend_ somewhere he can get some shut eye.”

“This is pathetic, I only gave him one drink. You weren’t slipping him shots while I wasn’t looking, right?”

“Why, Shinjiro, would I do a thing like that?”

“You would, and you know it.”

Somewhere during their conversation, Akihiko had let his eyes drift closed, thoroughly warmed by the alcohol. He blinked one eye open when a large hand slapped his shoulder. “C’mon, Aki. Time to go.”

Akihiko tried to get off the stool and promptly almost fell over as his center of gravity shifted alarmingly. Shinji caught him against his side and slid an arm around his shoulders. “God, but you’re such a lightweight.”

“Light welterweight.”

He felt more than saw Shinji slap a hand to his forehead. “I meant your alcohol tolerance, not your weight class, idiot.”

“Oh.”

They made it out onto the street before Akihiko finally got his feet underneath him in a way that he was comfortable with, but he kept leaning his weight on Shinji because it felt nice.

“Hey Shinji?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re my friend.”

A half-laugh, half-sigh vibrated from Shinji’s body and into Akihiko’s. “Figures you’d be a sappy drunk. Try to fight everything in existence when you’re sober, but drink one damn glass of decent whiskey and you won’t shut up about your fucking feelings.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment, and then Akihiko remembered the other half of what he’d wanted to say, before Shinji had so rudely interrupted him.

“And I’m _really_ glad you’re not dead.”

There was a pause, and then, “Let’s just get you upstairs, alright?”

Akihiko looked up to find his apartment building in front of him, like magic, and if there was something weird about how Shinji had responded, then he couldn’t really put his finger on it.

Together, they managed the stairs, and the locked door to his apartment, and Akihiko all but collapsed onto his bed when they got there. Who knew his bed was that comfortable?

Shinji put a glass of water down on his bedside table. “Drink that. Do you feel like you’re going to puke?”

“I’m okay. Do you think Mitsuru will ever talk to me again?” A distant corner of his brain was aware that he probably sounded like a kicked puppy, but the majority didn’t really care much.

“She will. Quit worrying so much, and get some sleep.” Shinji patted him sort of awkwardly on the shoulder, then ducked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Akihiko drank his water -- room temperature, no ice, and it was nice of Shinji to remember how much he hated cold stuff -- and tried to go to sleep. He really did. But now that he was alone, his brain decided to return to the now-familiar memories of the mission, as if this time he would be able to find the hidden meaning, the thing that would make everything make sense.

Without his ability to exert a conscious effort not to, Akihiko lingered on the way Mitsuru had kissed him. It was different than anything he’d known. Minako had been soft and sweet and gentle, or half-laughing and playful, in charge but not demanding. Kissing Mitsuru had felt like fighting, like adrenaline, like lightning straight down his spine to coil in his gut, waiting to be released. There was purpose there, and direction, and intent. She’d guided him the way she always had, and he had followed in her wake, another weapon in her arsenal.

One memory led to another, this one over two years gone, of Minako on his lap, hair loose and brushing her freckled shoulders as she ground against him, gasping and laughing and golden in the afternoon sunlight. She’d tasted like honey and maple syrup, sweet under his mouth and sticky against his skin, and he’d thought that maybe she was what home felt like, somewhere safe and warm, away from the darkness.

A third, long buried and made hazy by charm magic, blossomed from there, of Mitsuru painted in black and green by the Dark Hour’s moonlight, nails dragging across the back of his neck and his fingers digging bruises into her hips, the pale expanse of her skin only broken by black silk. He had wanted, lusted, craved, with an intensity that wasn’t his own but felt oddly familiar all the same, like the Lovers shadow had reached down into the depths of him and dragged it to the surface, thoughts and sensations that he hadn’t even dared imagined existed.

In the privacy of his own head, the images mixed and melded, Minako drenched in bloody night and Mitsuru smiling in the winter sunlight, and Akihiko couldn’t say which woman’s face he saw when it all came crashing to an end, and he slid into blessedly silent unconsciousness.

\---

Mitsuru was reviewing some of the data they’d retrieved from the Nanjo estate when a commotion outside her office drew her attention. It was after midnight -- she had never gotten used to one day sliding into another without the Dark Hour to mark its passage -- so what on earth could be causing such a racket in a house where she was one of the only people still left awake?

A few moments later, she found herself face-to-face with Shinjiro Aragaki, angrily shrugging off no fewer than three of her household staff as they insisted that he needed an appointment or permission to just come waltzing in, especially so late at night.

He locked eyes with her, and his expression clearly said that if she wanted him to leave, she’d have to throw him out herself.

“Mitsuru, would you call off your damn maids, already?”

Stifling a sigh, she waved a hand in dismissal. “He’s fine. Leave us.”

The women shared a dubious look -- how on earth could this scruffy man in a turtleneck and frayed jeans demand a moment of their mistress’s time -- but bowed and trailed out in single file, closing the door behind them.

Mitsuru closed her laptop with a sharp click. “What can I do for you, Shinjiro?”

“Don’t play fucking dumb with me, Mitsuru. You know why I’m here. What the hell is going on between you and Aki?”

Her composure cracked for a moment, and she rapped her nails against the top of her laptop in irritation. “Do not curse at me. And my business with Akihiko is my own. It doesn’t concern you.”

“Bullshit.”

Her lips thinned into a tight line, and she fixed him with her best withering stare, but Shinjiro didn’t flinch. Instead he advanced, his greater height looming over her. Foolish of her to forget who she was dealing with. Intimidation had never worked on him, not for a moment. Not even when they’d been little more than children, and she taller, stronger, and more skilled with her persona.

“I don’t give a shit what happened between you two. Figure it out. Because he’s miserable, and if I’m not mistaken, so are you. I haven’t seen you pull this prissy ice princess routine in goddamn years, Mitsuru. It’s kid shit, what you’re doing. Talk to him, like a fucking _adult_.”

Irritation boiled, and even if she’d admitted to herself what the issue was, there was no way she had to explain herself to Shinjiro, and no way she _could_ explain herself to Akihiko. It was completely irrational, not to mention ill-advised. Out-of-character. Foolish. “I can’t.”

“Why the hell not?”

Mitsuru stood and paced to her window, running one hand through her messy curls. “Did he tell you what happened?”

“I had to drag it out of him, but yeah. He thinks you’re mad that he got pissed off and protective over you, that you think he thinks you need to be coddled. But I’m putting my money that on the fact that you kissed him, and you liked it. That freaked you the fuck out, and now you’re running scared.”

Mitsuru pressed her hands against the windowsill, nails digging gouges into the wood. “I am not _running_. I am stepping back until I have proper perspective on the situation and can decide a reasonable course of action.”

“Oh really? Because from over here, all that sounds like is a long-winded way of saying that you're running.”

She didn’t dignify that with a response, and after a brief silence, Shinjiro continued. “So what’s the fucking problem here, anyway? It can’t be that you’re worried about fucking up your friendship, because you’re doing a real good job of that all on your own. He’s been worrying himself sick. You better not be putting him through this because you’re afraid he’ll reject you or something. You’re better than that.”

“It’s not that.” Well, that was part of it, obviously, but not the lion’s share.

“Then what _is_ it?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“That’s probably true, but the simple fact is that you won’t talk to the one person whose business it is, so instead you get me. And I’m not leaving until you tell me, or throw my ass out the door. You willing to wreck two friendships in one week, Mitsuru? Because at the rate you’re going, you’re not going to have anyone left to give two shits about you. And you can pull that high-and-mighty Kirijo duty act all you want, but I fucking know better.”

Mitsuru swallowed hard against the sick feeling in her stomach and forced the words out. “Fine. It’s Minako. I feel like, by indulging in this… _attraction_ , that I’m betraying her.”

“Don’t you fucking _dare_ drag her into your shit, Mitsuru.”

The naked fury in his voice shocked her into silence, and she almost physically recoiled.

“You kissed the guy that she dated for a few months literally years ago. So what? She’s _dead_ , Mitsuru. She’d damn well want him to move on, and you’re one of the only people I know who could get him to do it. She’d be fucking happy for you both, and you know it. But then you have the balls to use her memory as a weapon, not just against him but against yourself, all so you don’t have to face the fact that you’re a goddamn _coward_. That’s the only betrayal I see here.”

All her self-righteous defensiveness abruptly drained away, leaving her sagging against the window frame. His words rang true in a way that she couldn’t deny, not to herself. _Mon dieu_ , but this whole ordeal had been exhausting. “How do you know? What she would have wanted, I mean.”

Shinjiro raked a hand through his shoulder-length hair, sighing as he, too, let go of his earlier anger. “I was in her position once. She and I, well. I asked her to take care of Aki, and she did. I didn’t expect to survive that night, and even though I did, I’m glad that she was happy. That they both were.”

Mitsuru bit her lower lip, worrying it between her teeth. She hadn’t known. She hadn’t seen. Just like she hadn’t put two and two together that the night Ken and Shinjiro went missing was the anniversary of Ms. Amada’s death, she failed to see anything but an odd friendship between her old teammate and the charismatic junior. She was blind, on top of being foolish and cowardly, it would appear.

“I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t enough, but it was all she had.

Shinjiro sighed and slid into a nearby chair. “Not your fault. I didn’t want anyone to know. Only person she told was Iori, I think, and he’s the one who told Aki.”

An awkward silence filled the air between them, as Mitsuru found herself completely at a loss for anything meaningful to say. Talking to Shinjiro had always been difficult. Akihiko had always been the bridge between them. Without him, Mitsuru was sure they never would have interacted at all.

That he was here, discussing any of this, was testament to how much he cared about Akihiko, and how much she must have hurt him by withdrawing the way she had. Guilt flared in her stomach, and she wondered how on earth she could have bungled this so horribly.

A cough drew her attention, and Shinjiro shifted awkwardly under her gaze, refusing to meet her eyes. “Look, Mitsuru. I know we aren’t best buds, and we haven’t always seen eye-to-eye on shit. But all this, it ain’t good for you, either. I’m worried about Aki, but I’m worried about you, too. You two might be total morons, but you need each other. Hell, I’m pretty sure you were made for each other, if you could just get your collective shit together. I can’t tell you what to do, or decide what you feel, but I do know that you’ve both lost enough people that you can’t afford to let something like this come between you, alright? I’ve trusted you to take care of his dumb ass this far. Don’t make me regret that decision.”

Mitsuru closed her eyes. She’d long been aware of the warmth beneath his prickly exterior, but this was the first time it had ever been directed at her and her alone, and she felt wholly unworthy of it.

“Thank you, Shinjiro. I’ll talk to him. I’ll at least try.”

“That’s all I’m asking, Kirijo.” Apparently satisfied, and uncomfortable with the sentimental turn their conversation had taken, he stood and walked towards the door.

“Shinjiro?”

He turned, hand lingering on the doorknob. “Yeah?”

“I just wanted you to know, you will always be welcome in my home.”

A brief flash of genuine surprise slid into a faintly sardonic smile. “Might want to tell your maids that.”

“I intend to.”

This time, the surprise stayed, colored by an emotion that she couldn’t name. Loneliness, perhaps?

And for one of the first times in her life, Mitsuru opened her mouth and out fell words that she had neither examined nor approved the usage of:

“Did you love her?”

“ _Hell_ , Kirijo. We all did.”

The ache in his voice echoed the one that she felt, one that she was sure would never quite leave her. That one girl could waltz into their lives, change them forever, and disappear without a trace was almost beyond comprehension, but it was the truth.

They were all still learning to live with it. Maybe they always would be, trying to navigate the Minako Arisato-shaped hole in their lives.

The door to her study clicked closed, and left Mitsuru alone with her thoughts.

The data stored on her laptop begged to be reviewed, she had been on the verge of a breakthrough before Shinjiro had shown up, and she knew that the responsible thing to do would be to get back to work and talk to Akihiko in the morning. She tried, going through all the motions, but the words on the screen blurred and shifted, and she found herself rereading the same passage over and over.

Shinjiro’s words were still rattling around in her brain, taking up more than their share of her thoughts. The longer she waited, the more agitated she became, the inaction winding her into a ball of nervous energy. Sleep was completely out of the question, at this point, and so was work, apparently.

Better to just get it over with, that way she could actually focus, but it was the small hours of the morning, and waking Akihiko up just seemed rude. Instead, she tracked down Kikuno and left her with very explicit instructions about what to do in the future should any former member of SEES show up on her doorstep, then headed out into her garage. Hopefully a ride on her motorcycle would calm her, let her sort out her thoughts into some sort of order, instead of a confused jumble.

As she reached for her helmet, already parsing through how she might start this damned conversation, Artemisia suddenly surged forward to the forefront of her mind, overlaying Mitsuru’s senses with information. She felt, rather than saw, the four men closing in on her from all directions, all of their minds unfamiliar and closed to her.

Making a few quick calculations, Mitsuru grabbed the side of her pencil skirt in both hands and ripped, allowing for greater mobility, but then they were within reach, and years of training took over.

The nearest aimed a haymaker punch for the side of her head, a blow intended to incapacitate. It undoubtedly would have worked, had the man not telegraphed his intention so loudly that Mitsuru could have seen it even without Artemisia settled so closely behind her thoughts. He was slow, throwing too much of his weight behind a single strike, and when Mitsuru dodged easily, he overbalanced badly enough that she was able to grab his head and bring it down hard into her knee. Cartilege crunched and blood soaked through her pantyhose almost immediately, but Mitsuru tossed the howling man to the ground and turned to the next.

This one was smarter, more wary, and it took a few feints before she took his measure and swept his feet out from under him, dropping low to avoid his friend coming at her from the side. Grabbing her helmet, Mitsuru slammed the top into the side of the man’s head, causing him to stumble back.

In her laser-focus on each enemy in turn, she missed the hand that darted out from the assailant she’d dropped but not incapacitated, seizing hold of her ankle. A kick to midsection with her free leg made him let go, but not before she felt a sharp pinprick pain in the side of her neck.

Unfamiliar cold sluiced through her veins, and Mitsuru stumbled forward as first Artemisia’s whispers went silent, and then her vision tilted wildly. For the first time since she was seven years old, she reached for her magic and came up empty, without even the head-splitting pain that came with casting beyond her mental endurance.

Panic seized hold of her, and then everything went black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Graduation Day, everyone! I hadn't planned on posting the Minako-angst chapter on the anniversary of her death, but sometimes the universe works in strange ways. 
> 
> Also, I'm aware that in the female version of P3P, it is technically impossible for Mitsuru and Akihiko to end up in a room together during the Lovers shadow event, but uh, let's just not pay any attention to that, shall we? After all, forcing Yukari into your party is a hold-over from the male version of the game.


	4. of dramatic rescues and reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitsuru's grandfather's actions continue to haunt her, and Akihiko organizes a rescue effort.

Light slanted across his eyes, and dragged Akihiko from a sleep that felt more like a knock-out than actually restful. A part of him expected to feel the canvas of a ring under his cheek, but after a moment, it became clear that he was laying on cotton. And drool. Closing his mouth and swallowing past the fuzzy dryness, he took quick stock of his surroundings: he was in his own bed, but cross-ways and with one leg dangling off, still wearing yesterday’s clothes.

His head hurt. A lot.

A squint at the clock revealed that he’d slept in later than he had in years, and he took a moment to thank any available deity that it was the weekend, and Aigis hadn’t come barging in to wake him up in the loudest way possible.  

A few painkillers and a shower had him feeling moderately more human, so Akihiko decided to drag himself into the kitchen for some sort of sustenance, only to come face-to-face with the heavenly sight that was Shinjiro Aragaki, standing in his kitchen, flipping pancakes.

“Sit down. Breakfast’s almost done.”

Akihiko scrubbed a hand through his hair and sat down at his small kitchen table, trying to piece together what he was witnessing with what he remembered from the previous night. “I thought you left when I went to bed? Not that I’m not grateful for this, I mean.”

Shinji shrugged and started moving a small mountain of eggs and bacon onto a plate. “I did leave, for a while. Had to, since you apparently don’t believe in keeping actual food in your kitchen. But I’m the one who got you so shitfaced you couldn’t stand, so that makes it my job to take care of your hungover ass, I guess.”

Despite the gruffness of the language, Shinji’s voice was calm and measured, soothing against Akihiko’s lingering headache. It was nice. Shinji himself was probably the nicest person he had ever met, even though the man liked to pretend he was some total badass. Not that he wasn’t pretty hardcore when he wanted to be, but it was pretty obvious to anyone who spent time with him that the whole tough guy thing was definitely an act.

Shinji set two plates down on the table with a frown. “Would you wipe that dumb sappy look off your face and eat your breakfast already?”

Akihiko grinned. “Thanks for the food.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They ate in companionable silence for a while until the door flew open with a crash, and in strode Aigis.

At least she’d waited until his hangover had been mostly dispelled by an excess of carbohydrates and protein.

“Uh, hey Aigis. You do realize it’s a weekend right?”

The blonde android shook her head. “That is not why I am here. Mitsuru-san has gone missing.”

Akihiko sat bolt upright, and heard Shinji do the same. “What? Since when?”

Another voice spoke up from behind Aigis, who shifted to the side to allow Kikuno into the apartment. “Since last night. She indicated that she was going to go for a late-night ride on her motorcycle, but it never left the premises. There are signs of a fight between Lady Mitsuru and multiple assailants in the garage. We believe she may have been abducted.”

“What about her security? Don’t you guys have systems to prevent this kind of thing?”

“It was breached with very little problem. We have reason to believe the infiltrators had some sort of inside contact.” At this point, Kikuno paused and looked directly at Shinji. “You demanded entrance to the estate last night and took up a large amount of Lady Mitsuru’s time, almost immediately after which she went missing. Do you have some sort of explanation for this?”

She suspected _Shinji_? That was so completely ridiculous that Akihiko couldn’t even form words in his defense. Aigis, thankfully, stepped in. “Kikuno-san, I believe I informed you already that it is impossible for Shinjiro-san to be a traitor. He does not, as they say, ‘have it in him.’ There must be some reason why he would visit Mitsuru-san at such an odd hour.”

This time, it finally set in that Shinji had visited Mitsuru last night, as in after Akihiko had spilled his guts and went to bed. He groaned. “You didn’t.”

“Someone had to do something about the two of you morons. And since you clearly wouldn’t do it, I did.” Shinji did have the grace to look uncomfortable about it, at least.

Kikuno tapped her fingers against her arm. “Would one of you care to explain?”

“It was a… personal matter. I vouch for Shinji, he definitely didn’t have anything to do with this.” Surely his word had to count for something, right?

The maid studied his face for a moment, a clear question in her eyes, but her training seemed to reassert itself and she nodded. “Very well. Lady Mitsuru left clear instructions on what should be done if she should be removed from the chain of command for any reason -- the Shadow Operatives defer to you, Sanada-san. What is our next move?”

That Mitsuru had some sort of contingency plan in place didn’t surprise him at all, but the fact that he was her next choice did, a little bit. Akihiko had never really led anyone beside himself, and had been completely absent for most of the organization’s founding. The trust Mitsuru was placing in him was a little staggering, even after all this time.

Shaking it off, he glanced at Aigis. “We’re going to need Fuuka for this. Call her in, have her locate Mitsuru’s position. When we find out where she is, we go in full force.”

The blonde nodded. “Affirmative. Yukari-san will be very upset if she is left out of this mission. I will call her, as well as Junpei-san and Ken-san and Koromaru-san.”

Akihiko grinned. “Thanks, Aigis. Kikuno, I’d like to leave Labrys and the non-persona user Operatives back to defend Headquarters under your command. Figure out who these people are and how they managed to breach Mitsuru’s security. The rest of us will hit them hard and fast, before they even know we’re coming.” No cloak and dagger infiltrations this time. That was Mitsuru’s style, not his.

A soft snort sounded from the other side of the table, and Akihiko glanced at Shinji. “So your plan is to just kick down the front door and beat the shit out of everyone between us and Mitsuru?”

“Pretty much. You in?”

“Hell yeah, I’m in.”

\---

Awareness filtered back to Mitsuru slowly, one sense at a time. Smell was first, then taste, then hearing. Touch followed, and it was only once she was missing sight alone that actual conscious thought was possible, allowing her to piece together the various bits of sensory information she’d been passively collecting. She was in a room, large by the sound of it, the air dusty and stale, tied to a chair and blindfolded. That explained the lack of sight, and the slight throbbing pain in her head and metallic taste in her mouth were likely symptoms of whatever they’d drugged her with to seal her persona.

As she stirred, subtly trying to stretch stiff muscles as well as test her bonds, she heard footsteps approach. The blindfold was pulled away, catching briefly on her hair, and Mitsuru blinked rapidly to adjust her eyes to the light.

Three men stood in her field of view: two of them in suits and standing at parade rest on either side of her peripheral vision; and one front and center, still holding the blindfold. This one was tall, wore glasses and a black leather jacket, and his aristocratic features were pinched in an expression of distaste. Even if she hadn’t recognized his face, the man would have been easily identifiable from the large arabic numeral one that was emblazoned on the side of his jacket.

“Kei Nanjo.”

He inclined his head slightly. “Mitsuru Kirijo.”

His gaze held hers for a moment, and then Mitsuru settled back in her chair, trying to look comfortable and unconcerned, as if she were the one controlling this interrogation. “Is there some particular reason you felt the need to break into my home, assault me, and kidnap me?” Her limbs being tied down somewhat spoiled the effect, but she thought her light, amused tone carried it well enough.

Anger flashed across his features, and Mitsuru was gratified to see that her intuition had been correct -- he was a hothead, and could perhaps be goaded into revealing more than he intended.

“Need I remind you that it was _you_ who first broke into _my_ home, assaulted _my_ guards, and stole _my_ belongings? And that’s after trying to infiltrate my staff for months. How very unfortunate for you that when you copied the data from my computer, you opened a link that allowed a window into your own system. Turnabout is fair play, Kirijo. And now you will explain yourself.”

So that was how he’d gotten his people through her security and onto her grounds. Heaven only knew what had been compromised in a leak of this magnitude, and Mitsuru briefly cursed her own distraction. Had she been in her right mind after the mission, she might have caught the breach herself -- or at least been more prepared for its consequences.

Regardless of any of that, however, was the fact that Kei Nanjo had access to at least a portion of Shadow Operative data. In the face of that knowledge, dissembling would be useless.

“Evidence indicates that something paranormal occurred in the cities of Mikage-cho and Sumaru, in 1996 and 1999, respectively. You were present for both of them. I wanted to know why.”

Nanjo’s eyebrows ticked up in surprise. “Such a candid answer. How unexpected from a woman who runs an organization called the ‘Shadow Operatives.’”

Mitsuru shrugged. “There’s little point in lying about something you already know. What I’m confused about is why you went to the trouble of bringing me here at all -- why show your hand so blatantly? You have to realize that you can’t hold me for long.” It wasn’t a threat, but a statement of fact, and Nanjo ignored it entirely, forging on in his questioning.

“You truly expect me to believe that, before you searched my archives, you had no idea what happened in Mikage-cho in 1996?”

He was looking at her as if he expected her face to betray some secret, but Mitsuru just felt baffled. “Well, considering the fact that I was four years old at the time, yes. All the information from that time has been long-sealed, and I honestly don’t know what you’re implying.”

“Don’t play games with me, Kirijo. We both know that your company has long-standing ties to the Saeki Group, and that your grandfather personally funded the research of a man named Takahisa Kandori, the head of the Mikage-cho branch of the Saeki Electronics, Biological, & Energy Corporation.”  

Nanjo’s own data had indicated that SEBEC had some hand in the bizarre events in Mikage-cho, but the Saeki family had been exonerated of any connections to the research that had caused the city to be cut off from the outside world and filled with monsters. Nothing in Kirijo Group records indicated any ties, but Kouetsu Kirijo’s pet projects were rarely noted in any official capacity. Mitsuru had been so certain that she’d tracked down all of her grandfather’s research, but if Nanjo’s open hostility was anything to go by, she’d missed one. A large one.

A sinking feeling hit her stomach. One more sin to add to the mountain that already overshadowed her family’s legacy. Had her father known about this, and simply kept it secret? Or was this something that had slipped his gaze as well, like Ikutsuki’s betrayal and the existence of Strega?

Mitsuru leaned as far forward as her bonds would allow. “If you know anything about my organization or what it stands for, Nanjo, you should know that if my grandfather was involved in it, I am in direct opposition. I have spent my entire life righting his wrongs. But believe me when I tell you I know _nothing_ about his involvement in this.”

Nanjo’s expression went contemplative, but before he could respond, a klaxon began blaring throughout the room they were in.

“I did tell you that you couldn’t hold me for long, didn’t I?”

“Awfully confident in your employees, aren’t you, Kirijo?”

“I’m confident in my _friends_.”

A very small smirk twisted Kei Nanjo’s mouth. “As am I, Kirijo. You two! Go guard the door, and make sure we aren’t interrupted. I’m not done here.” The two bodyguards bowed and left the room. As the door slammed shut, something stirred in the back of Mitsuru’s mind, and she relaxed muscles she hadn’t realized she’d been tensing. Her awareness of Artemisia was still dim, and summoning her without an evoker almost impossible right now, but it wouldn’t be long before her magic was within reach.

“Now, I’ll ask again -- how can you say that you knew nothing about the links between your grandfather and the events you’re researching, when only months after the Sumaru City incident, which _also_ involved Takahisa Kandori, suddenly a Kirijo lab explodes and causes a tear in the fabric of space-time?”

He knew about the Dark Hour. How could he--

Mitsuru’s own mental alarm bells started echoing the actual ones, as Artemisia’s senses finally came back online, flooding Mitsuru’s brain with information.

Nanjo was a persona user.

She couldn’t pick up any particulars yet, like weaknesses or abilities, but even at her decreased capacity, she couldn’t miss the strength of the reading, or the flavor of it. He was a Hierophant, if she wasn’t mistaken, which usually meant a lack of elemental weakness. On top of that, his persona had a peculiar resonance that she had only ever detected from Minako’s strongest personas -- a mixture of light and lightning and almighty magic, which was non-elemental and devastatingly powerful.

Well, that complicated things somewhat.

\---

“I’m sorry, Akihiko-senpai, I can’t find her anywhere. Maybe they sealed her persona somehow? Or they could have someone who can hide personas from me, like Chi-- like Strega had.”

Fuuka’s eyes met his from within Juno’s protective bubble, her distressed voice echoing in the space between his ears instead of the few feet between them. Akihiko did his best to ignore the way Junpei twitched involuntarily at the almost-mention of Chidori’s name, and focused on the task at hand. The Shadow Operatives had had little success in finding out who had broken into the Kirijo estate, so Fuuka had really been their only hope.

Yukari (who was fortunately wearing something less ridiculous than the last time she’d been called in unexpectedly) looked up from examining her bow. “Let me make sure I’ve got all this straight. The running theory is that the Nanjo Group did this somehow, right? I mean, you guys stole something from them like a week ago, it would make sense. And didn’t that data you recovered say that there were other persona users involved? Maybe you should try searching for _any_ personas, Fuuka, instead of just Artemisia.”

“Um, I’ll do my best!”

Akihiko knew how hard trying to search large areas had been on Mitsuru back in the day, and though Fuuka’s persona was much better suited for that kind of work, the strain still showed on her face. Her small hands trembled as she clasped them, but he let her do her thing. Trying to stop her probably would have been pointless, anyway -- Fuuka had a bit of steel in her, too, and it came out most often when her abilities (and in her mind, her usefulness) were questioned.

Juno flickered out of existence, and Fuuka gasped and started to crumple, but Junpei managed to catch her before she could hit the floor.

“Shit, Yamagishi. You okay?” Shinji moved from where he’d been leaning against a wall up next to Akihiko, a concerned frown on his face.

Time paused for a half a second, and then she nodded, not lifting her head from where it rested against Junpei’s chest. “I found someone. Three persona users, plus a weird reading that might have been Mitsuru-senpai, on the edge of the city. But those three-- they’re strong. Really strong. I couldn’t get an exact reading but… I think they’re stronger than us.”

Everyone’s faces went through various stages of worry, and Akihiko shook his head. “There’s three of them, and eight of us -- nine, counting Mitsuru, when we find her. We’ll just stick together, and if we don’t have to fight them, great. But if we do, we’ll just have to beat them, and that’s that.”

The assembled juniors -- he’d never been able to kick the habit of calling them that -- all exchanged a look, and Yukari raised an eyebrow in his direction. “Wow, senpai. You must be really worried about Mitsuru if you’re not jumping at the chance to fight these guys.”

Junpei grinned and helped Fuuka stand up, his arm still around her shoulder as she leaned against him. “Yeah, who are you and what did you do with Akihiko-senpai, huh? Usually Mitsuru-senpai has to hold you back anytime there’s even the mention of something badass showing up. Without her here, I figured you’d really be gung-ho about beating the snot out of everything in sight.”

A quiet voice piped up from the corner, where Ken was crouched next to Koromaru. “Well, we are charging in through the front door. I think that still counts.”

If he was being honest with himself, there was a large part of Akihiko that hoped they did run into them. But the majority of his brain was concerned with getting Mitsuru out and protecting his people -- he was in charge, and he couldn’t just run off because there was a challenge to be conquered.

Later, though? If he got a chance later, when no one else’s safety was on the line, he was going to find at least one of these three and kick their ass.

Next to him, Shinji snorted and shook his head. “That’s enough commentary from the peanut gallery. Fuuka knows where we’re headed and we know what the plan is. Let’s do it.”

Shooting his old friend a grateful grin, Akihiko punched his left hand into his right, already feeling the adrenaline start to rush through his veins, combating the sick feeling that had been sitting like a rock in his stomach the minute he heard Mitsuru was taken. It was time for what he did best: action. “Shinji’s right. Let’s move out.”

The team all loaded up into a personnel carrier that was a good deal more practical than Mitsuru’s stretch limo, but still just as useless for stealth missions, so it hadn’t been used much. Fuuka directed the driver, and everyone else settled in the back, checking over their equipment. Akihiko had a spare evoker in an extra holster, just in case, and Fuuka was carrying Mitsuru’s favorite rapier. Junpei had swapped out the two-handed sword he used to favor for a baseball bat, like he’d carried the last time they needed to fight other persona-users.

Their destination was a nondescript warehouse, on the small side but with several levels below the main building. The ground floor was abandoned, and it was easy enough to find a freight elevator that led below. Too easy, probably, and the mix of tension and anticipation ratcheted Akihiko’s breathing up another notch.

“Ugh. Have I ever mentioned how much I hate being underground? Because I really hate being underground.” Yukari shuddered and held her bow more tightly to her chest as she stepped onto the lift, her face screwed up in disgust.

“Do not worry, Yukari-san. We will find Mitsuru-san quickly and then we can leave. Also, Koromaru-san wishes you to know that he is here, too.” The shiba nuzzled against Yukari’s leg, and she visibly relaxed a little.

“Thanks, Aigis. You too, Koro-chan.”

A quick survey to make sure that everyone was on the elevator revealed a lot about the bonds between the various ex-members of SEES. Koromaru cuddling with Yukari, who was standing close to Aigis. Junpei, who had one arm thrown around Fuuka and the other ruffling Koro’s fur. Shinji at Akihiko’s right, covering his non-dominant side, with a bracing hand on Ken’s shoulder. Everyone tense but comfortable with each other and with what they had to do, despite the fact that they were essentially a body operating without a brain to direct them or a heart to lead them.

This was his family, weird and cobbled together and with pieces missing, but still good.

Akihiko grinned, and pushed the button to descend into the complex.

As soon as he did so, an alarm sounded from the level below, and the entire group took a collective breath. The lift had no sooner shuddered to a halt when three suited men wielding stun batons rounded the corner, bearing down on their position. No guns, thankfully, judging by the way the men recoiled at seeing evoker holsters on a bunch of barely-adults.

“Non-lethal damage only, okay? Aigis and Yukari, hold back and protect Fuuka.”

With that order, Akihiko lunged forward into the corridor, Shinji and Junpei close behind. The lead man dodged his initial punch, feinting right and lashing out with his stun baton. Force slammed against Akihiko’s ribs, but instead of going down as expected, Akihiko rolled his shoulders and channeled the electricity through his arm and into his fist, sending it directly into the man’s stomach with a center-mass strike that left him in a twitching heap on the ground.

Stretching cautiously -- the baton had hit the side of his ribs that had been broken, and they had healed a little weaker than they’d been before -- Akihiko saw that one of the men was hunkered down with Shinji’s axe at his throat and his ankle bleeding from a bite wound, while the other was out cold on the ground and Junpei was wiping blood off the side of his baseball bat.

“ _Mon dieu_ , what an awful mess!”

The amused feminine voice and perfectly-accented French made Akihiko jerk his head up, Mitsuru’s name on his lips. A petite woman with short red-streaked black hair and a rapier held in a loose-but-comfortable grip met his eyes and smiled at him as she raised her blade into a guard position. “Sorry, I don’t think I’m quite who you’re looking for, but I’ll have to do for now.”

A sharp gasp echoed in between his thoughts, Fuuka’s voice inserting itself into his head. “She’s one of the persona-users I detected earlier! I’ll try to analyze her, but in the mean time, be careful!”

An arrow whistled past Akihiko’s ear and thudded into the tan-clad arm of a larger than life female figure as it shimmered into existence. Pipes curved around her head instead of hair, with more branching from her back to arc over her shoulders and shield her hips, like a bizarre form of wings. She held a lily in her right hand, and lifted the left in a single elegant gesture.

Fuuka’s voice turned slightly panicked. “Akihiko-senpai, get back! She’s about to--”

The temperature in the hallway plummeted, and Akihiko felt all of his muscles start to contract and tense in on themselves as a thin rime of frost began to coat everything that was exposed to air. Of _course_ they’d have to run up against someone with ice magic. It was hard to breathe, the cold pressing on his chest and the air from his lungs, and as much as he tried, he couldn’t get his limbs to obey him.

“Move your ass, Aki!” A large hand grabbed his shoulder and roughly shoved him backwards, into Junpei, who was still gloriously warm. Shinji stood like a windbreak against the blast of ice, pulling his evoker from its holster with clumsy, cold-numbed fingers, managing to press the barrel against his temple and pull the trigger.

Instead of Castor, a tall, marble-skinned form materialized, with long blond hair streaming from a Roman-style helmet, and wearing black armor that reminded Akihiko of Caesar’s, under a bright red cloak. The figure had a sword in one hand and a shield in the other, which he raised in conjunction with Shinji’s shout: “Makarakarn!”

The cold immediately lessened as the ice rebounded off a translucent force field, back into its caster. It didn’t seem to harm her anymore than a reflected Bufudyne would hurt Mitsuru, but it bought everyone a moment to breathe.

Akihiko coughed and cleared his throat, flexing hands that had gone stiff with cold. “Fuuka! I need a weakness on that thing, now!”

“I’m working on it -- she’s Judgement Arcana, I’ve never even _seen_ that before, outside from Minako-chan!”

 _Great_.

From all around him, elemental attacks launched towards the woman as Akihiko slumped against the wall and caught his breath. Nothing seemed to faze her, barely even scratching the surface of her persona’s defenses. Shinji’s persona flashed in and out of existence as he cast and recast defensive spells that Castor hadn’t had access to, but Akihiko could tell from his posture that he was getting tired, and fast.

“I’ve got it! Use darkness, Koro-chan!”

A howl echoed off the sides of the corridor, and a glyph drew itself on the ground underneath the woman, flaring purple-black. The strange pipe-winged persona disappeared, and the woman herself slumped to the ground, apparently unconscious.

Junpei let out a long, shuddering breath to Akihiko’s right, shaking his head. “Dude. Shinjiro-senpai, you totally saved our asses. We would’ve been popsicles. We would have been _executed_.”

Akihiko shivered at the memory of being totally encased in ice and left to thaw out on their own in the Kyoto hot springs. He’d needed to soak for _hours_ before he’d felt warm again. “I thought we agreed to never talk about that, Junpei.”

A small hand pressed against Akihiko’s shoulder, and healing magic wove its way through his body. Yukari gave him a reassuring pat even as she rolled her eyes at Junpei. “It’s not like you two didn’t deserve everything you got, you know. Pervs.”

“I don’t even wanna know what the hell you two did.” Shinji stood with Ken at the edge of the group, receiving his own dose of healing, and a quick study of his friend revealed that he’d pushed himself way too hard too quickly. Shinji’d never been great with magic, and he didn’t look like he’d been training much since recovering from his coma, if the group’s general surprise at his new persona was anything to go by.

Akihiko cleared his throat, and all eyes swung his way. “Now that we’re as recovered as we’re going to be, let’s keep moving. Aigis, Junpei, Koro, you guys take point. Yukari and Ken stay with Fuuka in the middle, and Shinji and I will cover the rear.”

A half strangled snort sounded from next to Akihiko’s head, and Yukari reached across him to smack Junpei upside the head.

Aigis glanced down at the unconscious woman and tilted her head. “What should we do about her? It would be very unfortunate if she were to pursue us.”

“Leave her. We don’t have anything to tie her up with, and we can’t really afford to waste the time.” Akihiko stood, stretching again to try to rewarm his stiffened muscles. All the cold weather training in the world couldn’t help him against ice magic, it was clear, and the fact that he had such an easily exploitable weakness irritated him to no end.

The group moved down the hallway in a loose formation, and Shinji hung back until Akihiko caught up with him.

“So, that’s an interesting persona you have there. Looks kinda familiar.”

Shinji rolled his eyes. “You’re welcome for saving your dumb ass from the big scary snow storm, by the way.”

Akihiko bumped his shoulder against Shinji’s and grinned at him. “Thanks. I do appreciate it. Now, what the deal with Mr. Color-Flipped Caesar? When’d _that_ happen?”

“Aeneas.”

“That’s his name? Huh. Never heard of him.” Mythology and tarot and all that Jungian psychology stuff had never been a major interest of his. He’d have to ask Mitsuru, she was the one who had told him the story behind Castor and Polydeuces, though he was reasonably sure she’d had to look it up. Minako had always just… known, like she carried around an encyclopedia of knowledge about weird old myths in her head.

“As for when it happened, I don’t know. Sometime after graduation day, I guess. I just summoned one time to see if I could, and instead of Castor, he showed up.” Shinji shrugged and rested his axe on his shoulder.

He didn’t seem unhappy about the change, and Akihiko could imagine why. Castor had always had a wild air, like he was one step from going out of control, even after Shinji had started taking those damned pills. Aeneas seemed steadier, calmer, more balanced. Less like he was focused on offense to the detriment of all else. Akihiko didn’t know exactly what that meant for Shinji himself -- their personas were reflections of themselves, after all -- but it was probably a good sign.

“Psychoanalyze me on your own time, Aki, when I don’t have to look at your face while you do it.” He was glaring straight ahead, and Yukari glanced back at them as if she could feel it boring a hole through her spine, but Fuuka caught her elbow and pulled her in to say something, leaving Akihiko and Shinji relatively alone again.

“Alright, alright. Sorry.”

A shout from up front caught their attention, but a few dull thuds and a scuffle followed, and they were on their way past the two normal guards. A split in the hallway was up ahead, and Akihiko called a halt at the fork.

“Fuuka, try and see if you can locate Mitsuru again.”

Juno appeared before he’d finished his sentence, and Fuuka smiled from inside her bubble. “Already on it, senpai.”

Silence held for a moment, and then: “Found her! Left hallway, but she’s with another one of those persona users.”

Ken scuffed the toe of a sneaker against the ground and looked around nervously. “Didn’t you say there were three? Where’s the last one?”

“Below us, somewhere, I think.” Juno dissipated with a small flash of light. “They’re not headed our way, though, so hopefully we can avoid them.”

The left hallway was unoccupied, until a pair of large doors at the very end, which were flanked by two guards, dressed the same as all the others. Junpei and Aigis peeled off to take care of them, and everyone else shoved past through the doors and into a large, open room.

Mitsuru was facing away from them, bound to a chair in the center of the room, but before Akihiko could get a good look at if she was injured or not, the man standing in front of her raised his hand.

A persona flashed into existence in front of them, looking for all the world like some sort of sci-fi butler on a surfboard, and a small corner of Akihiko’s brain was boggling at that even as his body was tucking and rolling away from the bolts of lightning that came arcing towards the group. Two female screams of pain echoed behind him and almost gave him pause, but Akihiko pushed through, dodging past the persona and slamming his fist into the jaw of the tall, leather-clad man who’d summoned him. He went down, hard, and didn’t get back up.

Akihiko spared a moment for a quick thanks to the universe. It owed him one after all that ice, and strike-weak enemies were his favorite, after all. Turning to Mitsuru, he knelt to start undoing her restraints, trusting her to warn him if the guy started moving again. “Are you alright?”

He glanced up to catch her smiling down at him, and his chest tightened unexpectedly. Akihiko chalked it up to being relieved that she had no visible injuries.

“I’m fine, though you could have shown up a _little_ quicker.”

“Sorry. Met up with some lady who could give you a run for your money in the badass ice magic department, got slowed down a little.” With that, he finished with the last binding and held out his hand, pulling Mitsuru to her feet.

In one smooth motion, she stepped around his body and kneed the rising man directly in the nose, dropping him again. “Sorry, Nanjo.”

She flicked her hair over her shoulder with a smirk and turned back towards the door, and Akihiko had to tamp down hard on the wave of emotion that surged through him. The awe and fondness he was familiar with, and the relief was totally expected, but he had absolutely no idea what to do with the sudden knowledge that he found one of his best friends knocking a guy out sexually attractive.

A woman’s voice, yelling “Kei!” drew Akihiko’s attention just in time to watch the silver and tan figure of the ice user’s persona materialize, facing the unconscious man behind them -- Kei Nanjo? -- with Mitsuru and himself in the way.

Mitsuru whirled, pulled his evoker from his shoulder harness, and pressed the barrel to her temple as she put herself in the direct line of fire, between either Akihiko or Nanjo. Artemisia held out her hands to deflect the massive spike of ice that hurtled towards them, but she could do nothing about the gout of flame that followed on its heels.

Fire consumed Artemisia and her image shattered with a sound of breaking glass, piercing through her defenses to Mitsuru herself. Akihiko watched as her pupils dilated with pain as her left leg and hip ignited, spreading up her lower back. For a minute, all he could smell was burning flesh, and all he could hear was screaming, even though Mitsuru was biting her bottom lip so hard it was bleeding. Caesar manifested without a single conscious thought, launching Ziodyne after Ziodyne down range even as Akihiko channeled a Diarahan spell through his own hands, cool liquid light quenching the flames and soothing bubbling, blistered skin back to ivory silk.

Caesar struggled against Akihiko’s attempts to banish him, feeding off his panic and the near-flashback to the orphanage fire, but finally he disappeared, leaving Akihiko clinging to Mitsuru, not sure which of them was holding the other up.

“Mitsuru? You okay?”

She nodded and raised a hand to his cheek, cool fingertips grounding him and pulling him out of his memories. Mitsuru was fine. He’d been there, he’d been fast enough and strong enough, and she was fine. No one would need to call him in to identify a body so blackened by fire that it was unrecognizable as human.

He let his forehead drop to hers and closed his eyes, absolute exhaustion from the battery of emotions and the too-rapid spellcasting setting in. Akihiko felt more than heard Mitsuru’s small sigh. “Akihiko...”

Before he could muster up the energy for an answer, Fuuka’s voice jolted them both out of the small moment of peace and away from each other. “Are you two alright? We’ve subdued the two persona users over here for now, but we’re all pretty wiped out.”

Mitsuru tipped her head and eyed the seated form of Kei Nanjo, who was conscious again but not making any moves towards them. “We’re in a similar state, Yamagishi. Hold them for just a moment.” She turned her attention fully outward, stepping towards Nanjo and crossing her arms. “I believe I’ll be leaving now, but if you’d like to continue our conversation in a more civil environment, you’re welcome to come by Shadow Operative HQ and we can have an amicable exchange of information.”

“You started this, Kirijo.”

“Yes, well, and then you kidnapped me. I think that makes us even.” Mitsuru turned on her heel and walked back towards Akihiko, favoring her leg enough that he held out his arm to her and she took it. They made it back to the larger group without incident, leaving Kei Nanjo’s reinforcements to lick their wounds and recover on their own.

Once out of the large room, Yukari peeled off from the group and launched herself at Mitsuru, pulling her into a hug. “Geez, you had us so worried! Are you alright?”

An arm dropped around his shoulders from the side that wasn’t occupied by Mitsuru, and Junpei grinned at him from about an inch away from his face. “But seriously, Akihiko-senpai, how’d you know that guy was weak to electricity?”

Akihiko rubbed the back of his neck in discomfort. He hadn’t attacked, had been focused on healing, in fact -- the lightning had been Caesar’s doing, alone. It was an uncomfortable feeling, the closest he’d ever come to actually losing control of his persona. “I didn’t know, actually.”

“Well, it was lucky, then. Without you, I don’t know that we could have brought his defenses down. That crazy Egyptian-looking persona he had was a _beast_.”

Junpei’s voice chattered on, and Shinji caught Akihiko’s eye. He knew everything -- the panic, the loss of control, the flashback. How could he not? Shinji was the one who’d had to listen to Akihiko’s nightmares every night after the fire. He knew exactly how bad it would freak Akihiko out to see a girl he cared for literally catch on fire right in front of him. There was no condemnation there, just compassion. Then Shinji raised his eyebrows and tipped his head towards Mitsuru, mouthing the words  _talk to her_. Akihiko nodded, and when he glanced down at the woman in question, still with her hand wrapped loosely around his elbow, she was looking at him. His ears started to burn under her scrutiny, but he forced himself not to look away in embarrassment.

Talk to Mitsuru. Right. Still not the easiest thing in the world, but after what he’d been through today, maybe he could manage it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, sorry this chapter took a while -- my computer straight-up died in the middle of it. 
> 
> for some reasoning behind while I chose Aeneas as Shinjiro's upgraded persona, see this post: http://eva-cybele.tumblr.com/post/113540672529/i-finally-found-myself-a-headcanon-second-persona
> 
> also, I had Elly Kirishima speak French because she and Mitsuru have similar speech patterns (formal Japanese with smatterings of English), and I wanted to preserve that. also, she canonically modeled in Paris, so it makes sense.


	5. of communication methods and understandings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After getting away from the Nanjo compound, Akihiko and Mitsuru finally sit down and have that discussion they've been avoiding for a week. Rating raised to Mature.

Silence reigned in the transport after everyone but Akihiko had been dropped at their various residences, with Mitsuru unsure how to break it. When they’d fought together, everything had felt comfortable and familiar, but as the adrenaline faded, the awkwardness set in. She’d avoided him for a week, after all. She couldn’t expect him to cross the distance she’d established.

“Akihiko.”

Grey eyes snapped up to meet hers, his mouth curving up in a small smile. “Yeah?”

“Do you-- ah, would you mind if we went to your apartment? I’d like to talk to you in private, but I’m afraid that when I show up at my own house dressed like this,” she gestured to her somewhat singed and disheveled appearance, “Kikuno will corner me and I’ll never get away.”

And if she put this off any more, it would be far too easy to fall into old habits, to rely on distance and composure when that was the last thing that this situation needed.

Akihiko coughed and rubbed the back of his neck and she realized belatedly that he might have been staring at her.

The idea wasn’t an unpleasant one.

“Sure. No problem.”

They spent the rest of the ride and the walk up to Akihiko’s apartment talking around the subject at hand -- discussing Kei Nanjo, what he’d wanted and what he’d revealed, the strategies needed to neutralize these new, older persona-users should it come to that -- trying hard for some kind of normal, but failing to grasp it.

Once they were inside, the immediacy of the problem that lay between them reasserted itself. Mitsuru dropped onto an armchair with a sigh that was half exhaustion, half frustration. Akihiko smiled at her in sympathy, and wandered into the kitchen to give her a moment to collect her thoughts. She’d never been so glad at how good he was at reading her moods.

“I think I have some tea in here, if you want some?”

She became suddenly, acutely aware that she hadn’t had any caffeine in nearly twelve hours. “That would be _magnificent_.”

“Don’t you mean ‘ _c’est magnifique_ ’?”

Mitsuru chuckled, covering her smile with a hand. “Your pronunciation is still atrocious.”

A few minutes of shuffling sounds emanated from the kitchen, followed by cabinets opening and closing. “You know, I think Shinji reorganized my entire kitchen while I was asleep last night.”

That caught her momentarily off guard, but Mitsuru knew an obvious opportunity when she saw one. “Did he happen to mention that he paid me a visit?”

“Nah, but Kikuno did, when she came by to tell me you were missing. She thought maybe he had something to do with you disappearing, can you believe it? But yeah. He said you guys talked about, uh, well. Us, I guess.”

“We did. He made it very clear that my actions were unacceptable. And that I should talk to you ‘like an adult.’ Only with much stronger language.”

Akihiko came out of the kitchen, two mugs in his hands, one steaming visibly. He extended the other to her, and Mitsuru was glad to find it merely warm, not hot. She thanked him with a soft _merci_ , and he smiled.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to get him involved in… whatever this is.”

Mitsuru shook her head. “No, I’m glad. I truly was treating you unfairly, and he made me see that. I apologize for my behavior -- the problem lay with me, and it was not right of me to avoid you the way I did. I… am not particularly accustomed to discussing my feelings, as I’m sure you’re aware.” She shot him a rather rueful look, and he matched it as he settled onto the couch across the coffee table from her.

“Really? I never would have noticed.”

She chuckled and took a small sip of her tea, perfectly sweetened, with honey instead of sugar. How one person could know her so well was almost baffling -- almost as ridiculous as the fact that she was having so much difficulty just _talking_ to him. She took a deep, steadying breath, and resolved to stop stalling, exerting her iron will to get the words out.

“The truth is, when I kissed you, at Kei Nanjo’s estate, it was intended as a distraction, nothing more. A last-ditch effort to escape notice. But it had an… unexpected effect on me, one that I was not prepared for. That caused me a great deal of confusion, and I thought that distance would help me sort out my emotions. It did not.”

Mitsuru glanced down to notice that her hands were trembling slightly, enough to cause ripples in her tea, and she forced them to stillness before she spilled any.

A soft cough drew her attention back up to Akihiko, who was looking at her with an unreadable expression. “So, what you’re saying is… you liked it? More than you thought you should?”

Her tongue felt too thick and clumsy in her mouth, so she just inclined her head in a small nod of assent.

“Oh.”

That single word dropped like a stone, and when no others followed it, a sick sort of need to be somewhere, _anywhere_ else spread from Mitsuru’s stomach through her limbs, and she set her cup down on the coffee table.

“Well, I just wanted to tell you that, and that it won’t affect our relationship further, so you don’t need to worry. Thank you for the tea.” She stood and bowed, walking past him to get to the door, and a corner of her mind knew that she was running, that she should stay, but--

A warm gloved hand caught her wrist as she passed. “Mitsuru. Wait.”

She turned and looked down to find wide eyes in an honest, open face staring at her, and the impulse to flee didn’t lessen, but she couldn’t move under the weight of that gaze.

“I felt the same way. I liked it, I mean. Kissing you.”

Oh.

The admission struck her in the stomach like a physical blow, and she had no idea what to do with this new information. So she opened her mouth, and words just sort of tumbled out. “That wasn’t all of it. There was also Minako. I felt guilty, like I was betraying her memory, because the two of you were…”

Akihiko’s thumb rubbed small, reassuring circles over the pulse point in her wrist, even as his jaw clenched and he swallowed hard. “Because I loved her. I always will. But I spent two years of my life isolating myself from the world and everyone else I love, mourning her. I came back in part because I realized she’d kick my ass for pulling a stunt like that. She’d be the last person to want either of us to stay stuck in the past, I think.”

“Shinjiro said something to that effect.”

“Well, he’d know.” He sighed and his shoulders sagged a bit, the grief etched along every line of him making him look far older than twenty-one. Mitsuru knew the feeling. Sometimes she couldn’t believe that they were barely considered adults, with all they’d seen and lost in their short lives.

“So… what now?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Mitsuru, even with all her scenario analyzing, had never made it this far. She shrugged and shook her head. “I have no idea.”

The hand wrapped around her wrist tugged her closer, until she was standing directly in front of Akihiko. His other hand curled around her hip -- the one that had been injured, earlier -- and slowly, slowly pulled her down until she was in his lap on the couch.

She could have resisted at any point, could have pulled away, probably _should_ have retreated back to her chair so they could talk about what, if anything, they were going to do with this strange attraction that lingered in the air between them. But instead she allowed herself to be led, the rip in the side of her skirt losing a few more stitches as she settled astride his lap. Maybe it was the exhaustion clouding her better judgement, or her sheer relief at having gotten past the hardest part of this whole conversation. Or maybe it was the way she kept thinking about how terrified he’d looked when he’d healed her, or the naked vulnerability he’d shown after he realized she was alright. Maybe she’d somehow hit herself with a Marin Karin without realizing it.

Maybe she was stalling again.

The hand that wasn’t restrained rose almost of its own volition, and Mitsuru carded her fingers through Akihiko’s hair, enjoying the way his breathing hitched slightly and how the muscles bunched and relaxed in his forearms. He shivered, and the hand that rested on her hip circled around to the small of her back in a sort of half-embrace.

“I’m sorry I left. It was selfish of me to just run off like that. I should have been here, founding the Operatives with you, helping Shinji with his physical therapy, keeping an eye on the kids… But I left it all on your shoulders.”

“You were grieving, Akihiko, I cannot blame you for doing what you felt you had to.” Heaven only knew that she had withdrawn enough after losing her father. It was only Yukari’s influence and the fact that there was still the Dark Hour to worry about that had drawn her out of it.

“So were you, though. We all were.”

“Yes, well, why do you think I threw myself into my work? It occurs to me that neither of us are much good at facing things that cannot be solved with the careful application of either force or logic.”

The soft huff of an almost-laugh escaped him, and he shook his head. “I just keep thinking about-- what if something like what happened today happened while I was gone? Not that I don’t think you’re amazing and more capable than anyone I’ve ever met, but--”

How very like Akihiko to get so hung up on the mere possibility that he could have failed to protect someone dear to him, to see it as a personal defect, and not a mistake on Mitsuru’s part. She brought her hand down and pressed her fingers over his lips, silencing his outpouring of guilt for something that never even happened. “Enough. You were here today, and that is what matters. There is no point in lingering on what if scenarios.” Her hand dropped into her lap, and she held his gaze with her own. “You cannot protect everyone at all times, Akihiko. It is foolish to even try.”

“I know that. I do. It’s just…” He swallowed hard, and the hand that was still loosely wrapped around her wrist skated up her arm, curling around the back of her neck to tug her head down to his. Soft, slightly chapped lips pressed lightly against her forehead, and then murmured into her hair, so quiet she could barely hear him: “I can’t lose you, too.”

A feeling that was painfully close to panic lanced through her. This entire conversation had started out on unfamiliar territory, and now it was as if she’d forgotten to watch where she was walking, and stepped into quicksand. It was unwise to have gotten into this mess when she was already tired and wrung-out and vulnerable. Why hadn’t she just gone home and gone to bed? Why had she allowed herself to lose control of the situation so utterly?

“Mitsuru? Hey, are you--” Akihiko had pulled back and was looking at her in alarm, with a slowly dawning realization that maybe he’d crossed a line, maybe he’d done or said the wrong thing, maybe she was about to reject him. And while that was true, in a sense, she didn’t want to push him away. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him again just to protect herself.

There were only two options available -- retreat back into comfort and isolation, or take charge and push forward, hoping that she could find firmer ground on the other side.

So she cradled both of his cheeks in her hands, pulled him up and forward, and kissed him.

The last time had been all adrenaline and excitement, the breathless thrill of almost being caught, but this was different. It was desperate, and _hungry_. Mitsuru poured everything that she was too damned afraid to face into it, all the things that she couldn’t put into words, not even to herself.

Neither of them were particularly good at talking, but action was a language they both spoke fluently.

The hand at the back of her neck tightened, and one around her waist slid beneath her shirt, warm leather against the small of her back. A deep groan rumbled through his chest and into her mouth as he kissed her back, fervent, but not demanding any more than she was willing to give. When she finally broke away just far enough for them to catch their breath, her eyes met his, looking for any sign of discomfort or hesitation.

She found none. Akihiko simply looked up at her with a level of absolute trust that threatened to shatter what small measure of control she’d wrested back for herself.

Dropping her eyes, she started quickly, methodically popping open the buttons on his shirt, revealing a whole network of scars, some whose stories she knew, and some she didn’t. He shivered when her fingertips skated from neck to collarbone to hips, goosebumps following in their wake, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he pulled his hands away, stripping off his gloves and tossing them past her onto the table, and then settled his palms lightly on her hips and looked up at her expectantly. He was waiting to follow her lead, for her to tell him what she wanted, what she would and would not allow. Letting her set the pace, even though she could more than tell exactly how badly he wanted this.

Mitsuru rewarded his patience by rolling her hips in a long, slow grind against his, the friction sending tingles down to her fingers and toes. Akihiko’s hands tightened on her hips, and he squeezed his eyes shut, half-strangling a moan, but his own control held and he stayed still.

This was new, exciting. In the past, she’d found the men she’d taken to bed to be far too forward, too free with their hands, so she’d begun binding them. Putting them utterly at her mercy, and completely in her control, so she could dictate exactly how the encounter would play out. She’d never been with someone whose willpower matched her own, much less who understood inherently exactly what she needed. She found herself wondering exactly what it would take to make him take liberties, to see him break beneath her.

Mouth curling in a small, slow smile, Mitsuru unbuttoned her blouse, watching Akihiko’s eyes follow her hands as the fabric gaped open. With a liquid shrug, she let the silk slide off her shoulders, down her arms, and onto the floor. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he took in the sight of her half-naked on his lap, and then he actually full-body trembled when she reached one hand behind her back and popped open the latch on her bra, discarding it as well.

His fingers curled so hard against her hips that she knew she’d have hand shaped bruises in the morning, so she caught the left one in her right hand and directed it upwards.

One calloused thumb circled her nipple, slowly, and Mitsuru hummed in satisfaction at the roughness against her skin, and at the fact that Akihiko’s other hand stayed exactly where she’d left it, though it was now rubbing little circles into her hipbone in a pale imitation of its twin.

A sharp gasp of surprise ripped its way out of her as a thumb and forefinger pinched and rolled the nub between them, sending a spike of pleasure directly between her legs. She glanced back down to see him looking at her in total innocence, wide-eyed and absolutely feigned, the smirk lurking on the edge of his mouth threatening to ruin the entire charade.

If he wanted to raise the stakes, that was fine with her.

Pulling both of his hands away from her body, Mitsuru slid off his lap, ignoring the almost-whine of protest he made as she rose. Instead, she shimmied out of the ruin of her skirt, as well as her underwear, and leaned forward to pull his shirt off his arms and unfasten his pants.

When she slipped her hand into his boxer-briefs and met warm, velvety skin that twitched at her touch, a gasped exhalation of her name made her pause.

“Do you want me to stop?” She could, and she would if he asked, but she didn’t want to. It had been months since she’d been with anyone, not since before Akihiko had come back to Port Island, and she wanted this. Wanted him, in particular. And she was afraid of exactly what kind of awkwardness it would mean if they did stop here. If he _asked_ her to stop here.

He laughed, and there was an almost hysterical edge to it. “ _God_ no. It’s just-- been a while. That’s all.”

“I promise I’ll be gentle.” She stroked the pad of her thumb up, from base to tip, and leaned forward to kiss him when his mouth fell open on a groan. One hand slid up, palm cupping her cheek and fingers tangling in her hair as he tugged her back onto his lap. Her breasts pressed against his chest as she took his hands and tucked them behind his head, the interlude broken.

She leaned back on her haunches to admire the way he was laid out beneath her, all muscle and strength and barely-contained power. All of that, all of _him_ , was, for the moment, at her silent, unspoken command. The entire idea was a little intoxicating, even if he was glaring at her in a way that was almost a pout.

Mitsuru resettled herself in his lap, grinding the length of him against the wet heat of her core, enjoying the way he hissed and tensed and writhed, but did not break.

She contemplated teasing him further, but her own need was starting to outstrip her patience, so she lifted her hips and aligned herself carefully, then sank down, inch by inch, sheathing him within her.

The stretch was uncomfortable for a split second, but she adjusted quickly, revelling in the sensation.  

A ripping sound drew her attention outward and back to Akihiko, who had fisted his hands in the couch behind him, and was watching her with a wild look in his eyes. She just smiled back at him, right hand curling around the back of her own neck, then skimming down over a breast, down her stomach, to stop between her legs. She set a measured pace for them both, hand moving in time with the rocking of her hips, and Akihiko held her gaze through it, refusing to back down even when she increased the tempo.

Pressure built within her, much more quickly than she’d expected, and on the edge of her release, Mitsuru tore her hand away. The playful confidence she’d felt earlier shattered as she teetered on the brink and Akihiko’s gaze didn’t falter.

She could not, would not, allow someone to _watch_ her come apart at the seams like this, she needed to make sure he was sufficiently distracted, she--

A large hand splayed against the back of her neck, tugging her forehead until it met his.

“Hey. It’s okay. Just relax, alright? I’ve got you.” His eyes were almost black, pupils dilated so far they were only rimmed with grey, but even now, they were steady and sure. Akihiko trusted her, implicitly and utterly without reserve. How could she not do the same?

Mitsuru nodded once, and closed her eyes.

Akihiko’s other hand wedged itself between their bodies, thumb moving against her as she clung to him, forehead still pressed to his. Physical pleasure broke through her carefully constructed mental walls one at a time, until she was left gasping in its wake, digging her nails into his shoulders.

The aftershocks shook Mitsuru to her core, each thrust setting off another wave, as Akihiko burrowed his face into her hair and took over the pace she’d dropped. Held against his chest as she was, she could feel the exact moment that every muscle in his body went tense beneath her, and his breath left him in a long, low groan.

They stayed like that for a moment, unmoving, and then the hand that had been anchored at the nape of her neck loosened, fingertips sweeping down her spine and back up again in a slow caress. Goosebumps broke out all over her body, and she shivered.

“Mitsuru?”

“Mmm?” Moving seemed like too much trouble, and talking even more so. It was strange, though; her usual tendency was to immediately clean up and leave after any sort of sexual encounter. But then, _everything_ about this was highly irregular.

“Are you alright?”

Sensing that there was no way should could put this off any longer, Mitsuru pushed herself back into a sitting position, raking a hand through her hair but immediately getting caught on a tangle. She busied herself trying to work through it as she nodded. “I’m fine, Akihiko.”

“What happened, there at the end? You kinda freaked out on me. Did I do something wrong, or...”

Of course he was going to make her spell it out. As if this whole mess wasn’t awkward enough without having to vocalize her own intimacy issues. “I don’t-- I don’t normally permit my sexual partners to touch me, or to see me…” She waved a hand, searching for a term that wasn’t either completely crass or trite, and came up empty, so she resorted to French. “Well, in the midst of _le petit mort_ , I suppose.”

“ _Le petit_ \-- oh. Oh.”

Akihiko fell silent, and Mitsuru kept her attention focused on her hair. This was what she got for going into this blind. Normally, her partners were well aware of her preferences before anything happened, and there were no surprises or explanations needed. She knew their medical histories and their names, but not their pasts or their desires, beyond what was pertinent. She didn’t know that they liked pancakes and black coffee, or that they woke up at the crack of dawn every morning to run, or that electricty crackled just under their skin.

Strictly casual, and with business-like efficiency, that was what suited her best. So how had she ended up here, of all places?

A hand settled on her thigh. “But you let me.”

She hummed a soft agreement, hands stilling and coming to rest in her lap.

Arms looped around her waist, pulling her into a hug. She managed to keep from stiffening, forcing herself not to withdraw, but Akihiko let her go almost immediately anyways.

“Do you want to borrow my shower? The towels are in the closet across the hall.”

Her surprise at the sudden topic change made her forget that she was too embarrassed to look him in the eye. His gaze caught hers for a long moment, radiating nothing but understanding, and she seized on the oppotunity to retreat from it. “Yes, thank you.”

Standing was difficult, because her knees were cramped from being bent for so long, and her bones still felt as if they’d turned gelatinous, but she got her balance quickly enough and ducked into the peace and quiet of the bathroom, alone with her thoughts.

As the warm water beat down over her shoulders, stinging her skin slightly, her shoulders relaxed. The extremely pleasant ache between her legs still throbbed, and her worries and self-consciousness seemed to almost unravel as she gave herself over to afterglow.

She’d tried to think of what she was doing with Akihiko as casual, another fling like any other, and she’d approached it in much the same way. Putting herself in that mindset of needing control, of not wanting to appear weak, was understandable with a stranger, but pointless with someone who knew her as well as Akihiko did.

Even when she’d ‘freaked out,’ as he put it, he hadn’t shied away from her the way the first few men she’d taken to bed had, before she’d discovered her own particular hangups and preferences. He’d understood, and helped her through it, just like every other crisis they’d faced together.

The truth was, sex with Akihiko was anything but casual, and she needed to handle it with care if she wanted it to happen again. Which she very much did. She also didn’t want their relationship to change beyond that -- the idea of being anyone’s girlfriend, much less Akihiko Sanada’s, was ludicrous.

Was there any reason that it needed to change, though? Casual and romantic were the two main types of sex in the normal world, it was true, but nothing else about her life was normal. She could put a gun to her head and summon an ancient Persian queen to freeze her enemies. She ran a secret police force dedicated to destroying the monsters that lurked within the psyche of humanity. Why should her personal life be any more conventional than her work?

When she removed society’s expectations and unloaded the connotations of either romance or lack of commitment from what had happened, everything just sort of fell into place. It ceased to be strange, and just felt like a normal extension of their partnership.

That settled, she turned her attention back outwards (how on earth did anyone survive without owning a decent leave-in conditioner?) and resolutely decided to not worry about whether or not Akihiko would agree with her interpretation of things.

\--

Holy shit.

As soon as Mitsuru was out of the room, Akihiko leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. He’d known that Mitsuru was reserved, that she didn’t like being touched, that she _hated_ losing control of a situation, but he hadn’t ever thought about how deep that might run.

And the fact that she’d just essentially thrown all of that out of the window? That was kind of a big deal.

Also, he’d just had sex. With _Mitsuru_. There was that, too.

Akihiko couldn’t really even fathom the idea of casual sex, of doing that with someone you had no emotional connection with. Not after Minako, anyways. But Mitsuru had apparently only ever slept with people she didn’t care about, didn’t even _trust_ , which meant that somehow, he had ended up the more experienced person here.

His brain kept spinning in circles, retreading the same few thoughts, so he forced himself to lay out the sequence of events from the beginning, trying to parse some meaning from it.  

Everything had started, really, when Mitsuru had admitted that she was attracted to him, and then tried to bolt. He hadn’t even thought, at that point -- she was leaving, and he didn’t want her to, so he asked her to stay. As for what possessed him to pull her into his lap like that, he’d been suppressing the need to reassure himself that she was okay ever since the mission ended. He’d just been reacting on pure instinct.

It was that vulnerability, from almost losing her in two different ways in a single week, one to ice and the other to fire, that made him say all sorts of things he never would have in normal circumstances. He had been _sure_ she was about to leave when she’d kissed him.

Things had escalated before he’d had time to think about them (truth be told he hadn’t really wanted to think about anything) and it had been so weird, but also really, stunningly not-weird at the same time.

Where the hell were they supposed to go from here? The idea of dating Mitsuru was completely bizarre in a way that having sex with her on his couch hadn’t been. Dating was awkward small talk and presents and feeling completely out of his depth at all times. Dating was trying for some conventional form of normal when he had no idea what that was even supposed to feel like. Dating was _Minako_.

But at the same time, it wasn’t like this was just some casual, no-strings-attached sort of thing that they could just forget about and continue on like it’d never happened. Not for him, and not, by all appearances, for Mitsuru, either. What they’d done was beyond that. It wasn’t just sex, but it wasn’t ‘making love’ either, stupid as that expression sounded. He did love Mitsuru, but not in the same way that he’d loved Minako. He loved her like a friend, and a partner. There was nothing romantic about it. Nothing romantic at all about the fact that he trusted her more than he trusted himself at times, or the fact that she knew him better than anyone, except maybe Shinji. There were no butterflies in his stomach around her, no clumsy earnest awkwardness. Just warmth, and fondness, and understanding, and now apparently mutual attraction.

Which left them in some sort of strange middle ground. Friends with benefits, was that the term? And that didn’t sound right, either.

He got up and gathered their barely-touched tea mugs, sticking them in the microwave as he listened to the water run in his shower. Somehow they’d managed to take an already complicated situation and add a whole other layer of complexity to it.

Not that he could bring himself to regret it. The actual physical act itself had been beyond great, and the affirmation of the extent of Mitsuru’s trust in him, more than a little humbling. He just didn’t know what to _do_ with it.

The water shut off, and Akihiko leaned against his counter and drank his tea, trying to force down the worry that threatened to overtake the fuzzy warmth that stil lingered in his extremities.

Minutes later, after he had mostly suceeded in telling his brain to shut the hell up (in a voice that sounded weirdly like Shinji’s), Mitsuru came walking out of, not his bathroom, but his bedroom.

Akihiko nearly choked on his tea. She had stolen one of his black button-downs from his closet, and belted it around her waist. It was just short enough to make it obvious that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath, and the entire thing was so attractive that he couldn’t even form words for it.

She was finger-combing her still-damp hair over one shoulder with one hand, his phone in the other. “I’m ordering some food. Are you hungry?”

An image flashed into his mind for a split second, of kneeling between her legs and--

“Uh. Sure. Yeah. I could eat.”

Mitsuru suddenly got that crease between her eyebrows that only showed up when she was worried or trying to puzzle through a problem. He coughed, and turned to hand her the mug of tea he’d rewarmed for her. At least _she_ seemed more composed than she had been a few minutes ago. God knew he wasn’t.

She finished texting in the order -- sushi, probably, that was her go-to -- and took the drink from him, still studying his face. “Akihiko.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For earlier, I mean. The rescue, and… everything that came afterwards.”

“No problem. Anytime.”

He’d meant the whole saving her from crazy kidnappers with ridiculously powerful personas thing, but a half second too late, realized the other way what he’d said could be taken, and pressed a hand over his eyes. Why did _everything_ have to have a second layer of innuendo?

A quiet chuckle made him glance over, to find Mitsuru smiling down at her tea. “You know, this doesn’t have to be weird between us.”

It didn’t?

“It doesn’t?”

“Mm. I was thinking. This is really only as awkward as we’re making it. After all, we’ve seen each other in much more vulnerable and precarious positions than today. The fact is, I care about you, and I’d much rather have sex with you than someone I don’t know. It was enjoyable and I’d be amenable to it happening again. But I don’t see why that needs to change our relationship.” Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “It’s not like either of us really has time for conventional dating, anyways, and I’m reasonably sure I don’t want a boyfriend. A partner, however, might be nice.”

“So, basically, just treat you like I always have, except with a little more physical contact?” That sounded almost easy, really. Doable.

“I do, of course, expect you to be discreet.”

The mere thought of Junpei or, heaven forbid, _Yukari_ , finding out about this new facet of their relationship was beyond terrifying. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

That settled, Mitsuru leaned a hip against the counter and sighed, her face relaxing into exhausted lines. “Now I just need to figure out how to get home without embarrassing myself. I’m not about to put those back on,” she gestured to the small pile of her clothing that still lay in a heap next to the couch, “but I don’t have any other clothing, and I can’t go out like this. I called Aigis to ask her to bring me something to wear, but she’s being repaired, and won’t be out of the lab until tomorrow morning. I would call Kikuno, but, well, I’d rather put off the lecture until I’m less tired.”

An idea occurred to him, too appealing to let go by unvoiced, however possibly inappropriate. (It was funny that he was still worried about being executed for impropriety minutes after doing the most indecent thing he could think of, but old habits died hard.) “You could always stay here, if you wanted. We could stay in, have dinner, watch a movie--”

“I could help you with the homework you’ve no doubt been neglecting?”

The reminder that the real world existed hit him in the face like a bucket of ice water. God, had it just been the previous night that he’d gone to talk to Shinji? It felt like a lifetime ago. He did, in fact, have an essay due on Monday that was mostly written, but seeing as it was for his English class, could use a glance-over by someone who was nearly fluent. Thankfully, that was it, and would take minimal effort on his part. Anything that required much more brain power probably wasn’t going to happen.

He opened his mouth, and the words escaped before he could stop them. “I don’t know how much work I’m going to be able to get done with you dressed like that.”

Mitsuru blinked in surprise, and Akihiko wasn’t sure if she was going to react with disapproval or amusement -- studying was not a joking matter in the eyes of Mitsuru Kirijo, he’d learned that very quickly -- but a considering light flared in her eyes, the one she got when she found something that sparked her interest. “Well. We’ll just have to find some way to motivate you, won’t we?”

She trailed a fingertip down his chest, her hand _inhumanly_ cold, and Akihiko wasn’t sure if he should be terrified or turned on. Both, probably.

He didn’t really know what to do with a Mitsuru who was, by all appearances, _flirting_ with him (also threatening, but that was more familiar ground, playful or otherwise), so he just shrugged and started to follow her into the living room. She’d apparently found her balance again, and come out of the shower looking more relaxed and comfortable than he’d seen her -- well, possibly ever.

As for himself, he definitely felt better than he had in years. He sent a brief thought of thanks towards Minako, wherever she was -- if it weren’t for her, he never would have been able to sort through any of this and get to this point. Just one more thing he owed her, to add to the the pile. The hope he’d needed to get through the Fall, the life of his best friend, and now this, all on top of the whole saving-the-world business.

For a moment, he could have sworn he felt thin arms wrapped around his shoulders and a voice in his ear, whispering, _Take care of her for me, Aki_.

“Akihiko?”

He swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat and walked into his living room, where Mitsuru already had his textbooks spread out in front of her. She tucked a lock of hair behind one ear and smiled at him. He smiled back.

_I will, Mina. I promise._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sure, Aki. there's absolutely NOTHING romantic about any of this.
> 
> le petit mort: literally "the little death," a French euphemism for orgasm. 
> 
> I'll likely include an epilogue after this chapter (about the same length as chapter 1, aka the prologue) and then it'll be done! have no fear, though, I'm already planning several oneshots in the queenly mask timeline, several of which will be akimitsu. Also to follow are two more longfics, one gen, and one shinjimina.


	6. of friendships, even when they're complicated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their interpersonal issues finally somewhat settled, Akihiko and Mitsuru find some sort of steadiness, despite their prying underclassmen.

Everyone found out eventually, of course. Rumors didn’t spread as fast through their group as when they all lived in the same dorm, but there were enough people on the team who had no idea how to keep their mouths shut to ensure that when the news got out, it spread fast.

Though he’d expected they’d be able to keep it secret for more than five days.

Akihiko still wasn’t entirely sure how it happened. He hadn’t told anyone, and he was reasonably sure Mitsuru hadn’t, either. However it happened, Akihiko ended up with a living room full of too-nosy former teammates, asking all kinds of invasive questions.

Junpei was definitely the worst, though. The moment he’d walked through the door, he had flung himself onto the couch and stared at Akihiko with a heartbroken expression. “What the hell, Akihiko-senpai? How was I the last person to know about this? What happened to our deep bond, forged over Operation Babe Hunt and tempered by our shared torment at the hands of the girls in Kyoto? We, the only red-blooded adult men in SEES for so many long months… I thought we were bros!”

A soft snort emanated from somewhere in the depths of Akihiko’s kitchen. “No wonder you wanted me to come back so damn bad.”

The fact that Akihiko had been stuck with Junpei and five girls for a while might have played a part in him pestering Shinji, it was true. He _had_ been feeling a little outnumbered. Still kind of did, actually.

Fuuka, perched on the arm of the couch next to Junpei, leaned over and smiled. “I think it’s very sweet. The Emperor and the Empress, who fought together alone against the darkness for so long… it sounds sort of like a fairy tale.”

“When you put it that way, it does sound kind of romantic, huh? Though, knowing our senpai, it was probably a lot more awkward than anything.” Yukari shot him a significant look, and Akihiko was reasonably sure all three of the juniors wanted him to say _something_ : gossip maybe, or wax poetic, but he was completely at a loss.

“How do you guys even _know_?”

A chorus of voices answered him all at once. “Aigis.”

Of course. The robot, whom Akihiko and Mitsuru had been sure would be completely oblivious to any sort of romantic or sexual overtones. Who was apparently more observant than they gave her credit for, and was _also_ a giant blabbermouth. When had _that_ happened?

Some of his confusion must have shown on his face, because Fuuka giggled behind her hand and shook her head. “You do realize that Aigis and Yukari were roommates our senior year, right, senpai? She picked up a lot about relationships.”

“Yeah, and I taught her what the difference was between boring and juicy gossip. It’s amazing what people will let slip around her.” The absolutely wicked grin on Yukari’s face seemed to hint at other things she might have knowledge of, and Akihiko groaned. Great, a robot girl with absolutely no boundaries or regard for personal space, reporting back to Yukari Takeba, of all people. No way that could ever go wrong.

Shinji left the kitchen, holding a mug of coffee, and leaned back against the wall behind Akihiko’s chair. “That’s what you get for not treating her like a normal girl, moron.”

A small silence reigned for a moment, with the juniors clearly wanting to pry for details, and Akihiko reasonably sure that he’d be alright with the world swallowing him whole if any of them so much as opened their mouths. His… thing, whatever it was, with Mitsuru was going fine so far, and they’d managed to not be too weird around each other this week, but this was on a whole other level.

Clearing his throat, Junpei grinned and leaned forward, causing a chill to go down Akihiko’s spine. Whatever was coming, it couldn’t be good, and he entertained the brief fantasy of punching Junpei before he could start talking.

“So, I guess that fortune you got this summer came true after all, huh? The one about ‘unexpectedly coming into some money’?”

He had to be reading unintended innuendo into that, _surely_ Junpei hadn’t just--

A large hand came slamming down on the back of Junpei’s neck, and the man shrieked like a little girl, the sound interrupting Akihiko’s deliberations about whether a lightning bolt to the throat was really warranted or not.

“Should I kill him, or do you want to?” Shinji’s voice was barely more than a growl, and Junpei shrunk away, apparently suddenly remembering who he was talking to and maybe how he shouldn’t have made crude jokes about someone that everyone present had a great deal of respect for.

Akihiko blinked sharply at the confirmation that he wasn’t just hearing things, his brain briefly descending into shocked white noise while his left hand curled into a fist almost of its own volition. He _definitely_ should have pre-emptively punched him.

Before Akihiko could form proper words, however, Yukari spoke up. “Shinjiro-senpai, you should probably get him out of here before I find Akihiko-senpai’s evoker and _Garudyne all his skin off_.”

Well, Yukari was still completely terrifying, good to know.

“Come on, Yuka-tan! It was a joke!”

“Junpei-kun, that was in really poor taste and you should be ashamed of yourself.” It wasn’t often that soft-spoken Fuuka got in on scolding Junpei, that was more Yukari and Mitsuru’s forte, but the quiet steel in her voice reminded Akihiko that she was no less formidable than any of the other female members of SEES when she cared to be. Honestly, how had they ended up with so many sharp-tongued women in one place? Even Minako had been capable of destroying her enemies with a single word, and the fact that she would have done it with a cheerful smile made things worse, not better. Somehow, the solid steel battle android with guns built into her hands managed to be the least scary of the bunch.

Junpei practically wilted at the disappointment in Fuuka’s voice, and slunk out the door like a kicked puppy. Fuuka followed him, with a quiet, “congratulations, Akihiko-senpai,” on her way out the door.

Apparently satisfied with Junpei’s punishment, Yukari picked up her purse and made to leave, touching Akihiko on the shoulder as she passed him. “Don’t get me wrong, senpai. I like you, and heaven knows I have my hands full keeping an eye on Junpei around Fuuka. I trust Mitsuru’s judgement, and so I trust you. But if you hurt her, I’ll turn you into a pincushion. Understood?”

Lightning weakness or no, Yukari still had her bow, and Akihiko was pretty sure he’d never even see her coming. “You don’t have to worry about it. It’s not like that.”

“Alright. Like I said, I’m trusting you. See you around, senpai. You too, Shinjiro-senpai.”

Shinji raised his mug in a sort of salute. “Later, Takeba.”

She shot them both a smile and a finger-wiggle wave, and left the apartment.

Akihiko half-turned in his chair to meet Shinji’s eyes. “Well, that was a total disaster.”

“Could have been worse. I mean, Mitsuru could have been here when he said that, and chances are we all would have gotten caught in the blast radius.”

Goosebumps broke out along Akihiko’s arms, and he shuddered. He could definitely live with never suffering through an execution again. Trying to distract himself, something Yukari had said stuck out in his brain.

“What did she mean, watching Junpei around Fuuka?”

“Are you kidding me? You didn’t notice that they haven’t been able to keep their hands off each other for like three goddamn months? God, but you’re an idiot. How the hell either of you managed to get girlfriends is totally beyond me.”

“Mitsuru’s not my girlfriend.” The response was automatic, reflexive.

“ _Sure_ she’s not.” Shinji rolled his eyes and dropped into Junpei’s vacated spot on the couch. Thankfully, everyone kept avoiding the end where he and Mitsuru had--

He cut off that train of thought before it had time to embarrass him in front of Shinji.

“So, did Aigis tell you, too?”

“Nah. She didn’t need to. It’s not like it was exactly hard to tell that you two had gotten laid recently. You both looked _almost_ relaxed.”

Akihiko felt his entire face turn bright red, and Shinji just slouched farther into the corner of the couch, looking entirely too satisfied with himself, which of course was how Mitsuru found them when she walked in a moment later.

“How strange, I could have sworn I just passed Yukari on the sidewa-- oh, Shinjiro. Am I interrupting?” Her casual, relaxed demeanor slid into something a little more wary, and after a moment, she folded her arms and frowned. “Akihiko. You told him, didn’t you?”

“He didn’t have to, I already knew. By the way, so does everyone else. That’s why they were here.”

Mitsuru’s gaze cut from Shinji back to Akihiko. “How?”

“Aigis, apparently.” Akihiko shrugged.

“Oh. Well. That's... unexpected. Nothing that can be done about now, I suppose.” She shifted a little awkwardly, clearly torn between wanting to let her guard down and not wanting to make things weird for Shinji, who just sighed and sat up.

“Look. As long as you guys don’t start acting all fucking lovey-dovey around me, we can just pretend like I don’t know shit, if that makes you feel better. I’m not gonna make a big deal out of anything, unlike those morons who just left.”

“Thank you. I’d appreciate it.” Mitsuru stifled a sigh, and shook her head. “I came by to see if you wanted to get lunch, Akihiko, but if you have company, then--”

A brief spike of dismay lanced through him. “Why don’t we all go get some ramen? It’s been awhile since we’ve done anything together.” That was putting it lightly. The last time it had been just the three of them, they’d been drinking coffee in the fourth floor meeting room at the dorm, back during the typhoon. After that, between Shinji’s coma, Akihiko’s trip, and Mitsuru’s general busyness, they’d been unable to catch any time without at least one of the kids present.

Shinji and Mitsuru exchanged a quick, unreadable look, like they were asking each other for permission or something, and then they both shrugged at the same time.

Sometimes Akihiko forgot how alike they were in certain ways.

“Sure, Aki. At least it’s not beef bowls this time.”

Mitsuru tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s been some time since I’ve had ramen. We’re going to Hagakure, I assume?”

“Like we’d go anywhere else. C’mon.” Shinji dragged himself off the couch and out the door, Mitsuru close behind him, leaving Akihiko jogging to grab his shoes and follow them, feeling sort of giddy and light.

When he caught up, he shoved himself into the gap of space between them as they walked, slinging one arm around Shinji’s shoulders, and the other across Mitsuru’s back, pulling them both into a weird half-hug. “I ever mention how much I like you guys?”

Shinji rolled his eyes with a disgusted noise but didn’t make any attempts to pull away, and Mitsuru stiffened for a split second, then allowed herself to be pulled against Akihiko’s side. Antisocial jerks, the both of them, but they were _his_ antisocial jerks.

“You might have mentioned it once or twice, but I suppose it bears repeating from time to time.” Mitsuru’s voice was a bit muffled, but it sounded warm and amused.

“Dammit, Kirijo, don’t fucking _encourage_ him.”

“Language, please.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry, princess.”

Maybe there were still a bunch of snarls and tangles in their relationships, and things would never be simple again, but they were doing alright. It wasn’t weird, or awkward, or bad. Just complicated, and they were all pretty terrible at talking, but if they’d made it this far, then he was sure they could get through just about anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c'est fini!
> 
> be on the look out for some oneshots in this 'verse, including a Junpei/Fuuka one, as well as the big sequel, somewhere on the horizon.
> 
> thank you so much for reading!


End file.
